


Standing Still

by andiheardeverything



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Naughty language, Slow Build, Tourette Syndrome, also sexual content, also some recreational drug use, boys being shy, nothing bad I promise, some negative self talk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-18 18:51:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 44,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2358539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andiheardeverything/pseuds/andiheardeverything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite his better judgement, Kurt signs up for an online dating website and is surprised to find he’s a pretty popular potential love interest. But amidst the six-packs and shirtless profile pictures, he gets a message from a boy name Blaine. A shy, mysterious boy, who Kurt finds himself inexplicably drawn to. But Blaine has a secret, one he’s not sure if he wants Kurt to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Quick disclaimer: this fic deals with Tourrette syndrome, written by someone who does not personally have the condition. All my information comes from the multitude of books, movies, documentaries, and research I have watched/read/done on the topic. Tourrette syndrome is something that has always fascinated me, and I've always wanted to write something that both acknowledges it and respects those who deal with it. If you have any questions/concerns, please feel free to send me a message.
> 
> If you're interested in learning more, I highly recommend watching Marc Elliott's amazing speech What Makes You Tic? or reading his book of the same name. I also highly, highly recommend the book Jerk, California, written by an author who has experienced Tourrette syndrome. The Tic Code is also an amazing movie I would encourage people to check out, which I believe you can find on Netflix.

He’s not sure why he does it. Maybe it’s the pressure Rachel’s been putting on him to find a boyfriend. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s the only single one on karaoke night, the awkward fifth, seventh, ninth wheel. Maybe it’s because he’s lonely and the nights get long, and the other side of his bed is starting to feel strangely empty. 

Whatever the reason, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s one in the morning on a Wednesday night, and Kurt Hummel has just completed an online dating profile. He uploads a picture of himself sitting at his desk in the _Vogue_ office, to show he’s committed to work, one of him smiling at the bar with Rachel, to show he likes to have a good time, and one someone took during a NYADA performance, just because he looks really damn good. 

He feels a mix of accomplishment and slight embarrassment at his finished profile, and in the time it takes for him to go to the bathroom and wash his face he already has fifteen new messages, twelve of them cheesy pickup lines with bad grammar. It makes him preen a little, at the attention his profile has gotten in only a few minutes, and he closes his computer and heads to bed, tries to imagine the Taylor Lautner look alike that he’s sure is sending him a message right now. 

The rest of the week is busy with midterms and a deadline at _Vogue_ and Kurt barely has time to sleep, let alone try and strike up an online romance. It’s not until exams and performance reviews are firmly tucked behind him that Kurt has a moment to draw the curtains firmly shut on his half of the loft, and open his laptop. He hasn’t told anyone about his account, is a bit embarrassed that he’s resorting to this method to try and meet people, and he doesn’t want Rachel to tease him about it while simultaneously taking control of his profile and matching him up with guys she finds hot enough. 

So when he logs on and finds that he has eighty-five new messages waiting for him, he’s a bit flattered but very dumbfounded. He opens a few of them, not even really sure where to start. The problem with New York, he’s realizing, is that it’s big, and full of people, and online dating is proving to be just as overwhelming as real life dating. There are so many people, he feels crowded and stifled and doesn’t know where to start. 

He clicks on the link to show him his matches, begins to scroll through page after page of men that a computer program has decided would be a good fit for him. There are a couple _maybe_ ’s _,_ a handful of _oh my_ ’s, and quite a few _hell no_ ’s that he quickly scrolls away from. He sends a few messages to a few users whose profiles don’t come across as total douchebag, or like they’re trying to hard. It’s almost addicting, Kurt realizes after nearly an hour has gone by, looking through profiles, sitting back and judging pictures, trying decide if Mr. Sixpack really does volunteer at animal shelters three times a week. 

He’s about to log off when a pop up notifies him that he has a new message, and he clicks on it automatically. It’s from someone named _Warbler2123,_ and the message is relatively short. 

_Hi there! I’m not one to really message people here but I saw you work at Vogue and I couldn’t help myself, I had to ask what it’s like there? I’ve collected every issue since I was 14 and… that probably sounds a bit pathetic, but I’ve always been a fan of Isabelle Wright’s vision and it must be amazing to work with her._

_I’m rambling now, I’m sorry._

Kurt finds himself smiling slightly, the message oddly endearing. Or maybe it’s because it’s one of the first messages that hasn’t solely consisted of remarking on his looks or asking him to join a threesome. He clicks through to _Warbler2123_ ’s profile; his name is Blaine A., his age just a year younger than Kurt’s. Blaine A’s profile is fairly empty, simply states that he’s a student at Columbia University and he enjoys singing, Broadway shows, Ewan McGregor movies, and building robots. Okay… a little odd, but at least it seems honest, Kurt figures, not full of exaggerated truths about spending hours at the gym and boastful statements about they’re just such a _nice guy_. 

He’s disappointed to find there’s only one picture and it’s slightly blurry, like it was taken on someone’s phone. But the boy in the picture is cute, curls peeking out from under a beanie hat, a tastefully colored scarf wrapped around his neck, a shy smile pulling at pink lips. 

Kurt feels compelled to answer, clicks back to the message. 

_Hello there, Blaine, whose name I got from your profile and not from a proper introduction. Don’t worry about sounding pathetic, I’ve collected every issue since I was 12, so I’ve got you beat! Working with Isabelle is a dream, although my job mostly consists of refilling her coffee and holding up fabric swatches, though she occasionally calls me in to settle a stylistic disagreement._

_My name is Kurt, by the way. Nice to meet you._

Kurt sends the message with a satisfied jab at his keyboard.

-

He wakes up the next morning with a notification in his email that he has a new message. 

_I’m so sorry, it was rude of me not to introduce myself, wasn’t it. I’m new to this whole… dating website thing, so I apologize. You caught me a little off guard, I honestly wasn’t expecting you to message someone like me back. Can I ask, how does Isabelle take her coffee? That was really creepy of me, wasn’t it. I’m sure you must be very talented if she has you settling disagreements, so color me jealous._

_It’s nice to meet you, Kurt._

The message makes Kurt smile, despite how fumbling and awkward it is. This Blaine seems genuine, and Kurt can almost imagine him blushing as he writes it, probably thinking too hard about every word. He sips at his coffee as he considers it, lets the caffeine wake him up a little before responding. 

_I accept your apology, but ‘someone like you’? What’s that supposed to mean?  Someone well-mannered and polite? You have nothing to worry about ;)_

_Isabelle takes her coffee black in the morning, but around three she likes a nonfat latte with extra caramel drizzle on top. That’s classified information, I’ll have you know, so don’t be spreading it around the black-market or anything. How do you take_ your _coffee, Blaine? And I don’t know about talented, per se, but I’ll admit that sometimes I have an eye for things that she seems to appreciate! I’m just really lucky, I think._

_What about you, mysterious Blaine? What do you do aside from marathoning Ewan McGregor movies?_

Kurt stares at the winky face for a moment, tries to decide if it’s too much before shaking his head and sending the message. Screw it. This is an online dating website, isn’t it? He’s supposed to be a little flirtatious, otherwise what’s the point. 

He finishes his coffee in a long swig before standing up and moving to the closet to pick out his outfit for the day. He has a presentation in his _History of Theater_ class and he needs to look good. 

-

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_You know, someone as… good looking and fashionable as you, messaging someone far less good looking and fashionable and interesting. That’s what I meant. And now I’m making a fool of myself, aren’t I? Again._

_I take my coffee black with cream, and sometimes I like to sprinkle cinnamon on top, to spice things up. Very interesting, I know. How do you take your coffee? Aside from watching Mr. McGregor, I mostly stay at home studying for my classes or working on various projects. I know it sounds super nerdy, but I build robots for fun. I can already hear you running away screaming, so I’ll just leave it at that._

-

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_What’s with all this self-deprecating business, Blaine? I demand it stops, right now. I don’t talk to anyone I don’t find interesting, so don’t you worry! And how am I supposed to know how fashionable you are with your one measly little picture? Though from what I can see, that is a very fashionable scarf. I know my Burberry knock offs when I see one._

_Do I sound like I’m running away? It is a little nerdy, but I want to dance at people who criticize me for a living, so who am I to judge? All I know about robots is that Wall-E and Eve were totally meant to be and that movie made me cry. I cried, Blaine! I cried for robots._

_Ahem. I take my coffee with enough creamer and chocolate that it probably isn’t actually classified as coffee anymore. The more expensive, the better._

_-_

**Blaine to Kurt**

_Well, there’s a bit more to robots than Wall-E, as they aren’t really sentient beings but… yes. That movie made me cry too. And I may have built myself a robot that looks similar to Wall-E, but that was just a coincidence, I swear! Totally, 100% coincidence._

_And what would Isabelle say about my Burberry knock off? I’m a fashion disgrace, Kurt._

_-_

**Kurt to Blaine**

_You’re right, Blaine. You’re a total fashion disgrace. You should hand in your gay man’s card to good fashion sense this instance. Though, considering the abhorrent fashion I’ve seen on this website, you’re holding pretty strong._

_So… now that we’ve discussed our coffee orders and our knack for crying over animated robots in children’s movies, would you want to maybe meet sometime for more coffee and more robot discussion? I could give you more intel on the secret life of Isabelle Wright._

_This is me asking you out on a date. If that wasn’t obvious._

_-_

Blaine sits on his twin mattress on the floor, his back pressed against the wall, and stares at his computer screen. He can hear Cooper messing around in the kitchen, can smell some sort of curry wafting through the crack in his door, but he doesn’t get annoyed like he usually would. Instead he stares at the small words on his screen, can’t really believe what he’s reading. 

He touches his nose, twitches his shoulder up to his ear. Kurt just asked him out on a date and he wants to, he _wants_ so much, but… he touches his nose again. The sun is setting outside and he hasn’t bothered to turn on the light, finds himself sitting in the dark, still staring at the message. He knows what Cooper would tell him, he was the one who made him the stupid profile in the first place. 

 _You’re not doing yourself any good sitting in your room alone, bucko_ , he had said when Blaine had discovered what he was doing. He’d tell him to go for it, to live a little. But… he’d tried that, before. And look where that had gotten him. 

He closes his eyes for a moment, draws in a deep breath. Touches his nose.

Okay.

-

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Sure, coffee would be nice._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick disclaimer: this fic deals with Tourrette syndrome, written by someone who does not personally have the condition. All my information comes from the multitude of books, movies, documentaries, and research I have watched/read/done on the topic. Tourrette syndrome is something that has always fascinated me, and I've always wanted to write something that both acknowledges it and respects those who deal with it. If you have any questions/concerns, please feel free to send me a message.
> 
> If you're interested in learning more, I highly recommend watching Marc Elliott's amazing speech What Makes You Tic? or reading his book of the same name. I also highly, highly recommend the book Jerk, California, written by an author who has experienced Tourrette syndrome. The Tic Code is also an amazing movie I would encourage people to check out, which I believe you can find on Netflix.

They agree to meet on a Thursday, in a small coffee shop called _Jive,_ only a few blocks away from NYADA. Kurt’s excited, the prospect of meeting someone new, someone that he might actually hit it off with sends a thrill down his spine. They’ve already hit it off, really, Kurt thinks, checking his phone for the fiftieth time in twenty minutes. They exchanged phone numbers when they set the date, and the texts have been back and forth, frequent enough that Rachel has started to side-eye him when his phone chimes, when he has to bite back a smile as he taps out a response.

He hasn’t told her yet, wants this to be something that’s all _his_ before she inevitably takes over, steals this moment from him. It’s a little bit thrilling actually, having this all to himself. This secret man, who’s coy and shy but witty and funny at the same time. Who keeps Kurt guessing, makes Kurt want to know more about him. 

Thursday approaches and Kurt finds himself combing through his closet, trying on outfit after outfit, unsure of what version of formal versus casual versus I-like-you-and-what-to-impress-you-but-I-don’t-want-to-seem-high-maintenance to go for. Eventually he gives up, collapses on his bed with a huff, pulls out his phone.

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_What are you wearing?_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_… Um. My pajamas?_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Wow. That came out wrong._

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_I’m so sorry. I promise I’m not a creep._

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_What are you wearing on Thursday is what I meant._

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Let me just roll under my bed and die of embarrassment._

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Don’t die on my behalf! I guess I hadn’t thought about it yet…_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Pants… and a shirt. Those things._

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Good. Practical._

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Shoes too._

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_A wise choice._

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_I mean, this isn’t formal, is it? We’re just meeting in a coffee shop._

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_You’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just… stressing. This is how I stress._

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Why are you stressed?_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Because, I don’t know if I told you this, but I’m meeting with a cute guy this week, and I want to make a good impression._

 

A moment passes before Blaine responds.

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Oh, are you meeting with someone else from the site?_

 

Kurt hesitates, tries to think how to respond, but his phone chimes again before he has the chance. 

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_You meant me, didn’t you_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_:)_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_I’m sorry, I’m not very good at this having conversations with other people thing_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Well, I find you to be an excellent conversationalist_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_It’s all an illusion, I promise. Too many years of talking only to robots. And my brother._

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_A mysterious brother emerges_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Believe me, it’s best for everyone if he never emerges from anything ever_

 

The conversation goes on for a few hours, and while Kurt never really gets anything too personal from Blaine, it’s light and fun and leaves Kurt with a smile on his face that doesn’t disappear for hours. He keeps his phone tucked in his pocket so he’s sure not to miss a text, finds himself wishing that Thursday would come sooner. Despite their sweet, slightly flirtatious texts, Kurt feels like he won’t be able to get a good read on Blaine until they meet in person, until he can see him in front of him, can read his body language, can find what makes him smile, what makes him laugh, if he’s really as shy as he seems. 

It’s Wednesday night, Rachel has invited Santana and Dani over, Sam and Mercedes showing up at the slightest mention of food, Elliott joining just in time for food to be served, bringing his own tray of mint brownies. They crowd around the table and dig into the vegan lasagna Rachel had whipped up, and everyone is oddly silent, glancing up at Kurt with guarded eyes. It’s awkward, and halfway through his serving of lasagna, Kurt sets down his fork with a huff.

“What’s going on?” The question isn’t so much a question as a demand, and he watches as Rachel bites her lip, as every shifts in their seats.

“Spill,” Santana says after only a moment, her eyes meeting Kurt’s without any hesitation. “Who’re you fucking?”

Kurt’s mouth falls open. “What?”

“Who. Are. You. Fucking?” Santana repeats, and Elliott coughs. Her eyes snap to him. “Is it Elliott?”

“Wha… no!” Elliott says quickly, eyes wide. “We’re not…”

He stops at Kurt’s glare, stares back down at his food.

“I’m _fucking_ anyone,” Kurt shoots back at Santana. 

“Bullshit,” she says, and Rachel intervenes before she can say anything else.

“We just thought you might be… having relations with someone,” Rachel says, neatly folding her napkin and placing it beside her plate. “You’ve been texting all the time, and we know it’s not to any of us, and you seem… happier.” 

She says the last word almost like a question, and Kurt tries to look as indignant as possible. 

“Well, excuse me for being happy.” 

“It’s not…” Rachel starts, her lips turning down into a frown. “We just wanted you to know that you could tell us. If you are seeing someone. You don’t have to hide it.” 

“Fine,” Kurt says, crosses his arms over his chest. “Yes, I have a date tomorrow. No, we haven’t met before. Yes, I met him on a dating website. No, I’m not going to tell you who it is because you’ll just try and stalk him and I won’t allow that. Any other questions?”

An awkward silence settles for a moment, before Sam clears his throat.

“You met him online? Isn’t that like… dangerous?” 

Kurt shoots a glare at him. 

“If you’re going got judge my choices then I’m not going to talk about this anymore,” Kurt pushes his plate away, stands up from the table. “And I’ll have you know, there’s nothing wrong with online dating when all you meet in real life are losers who let you down anyways. I’m going for a walk.”

Kurt makes a sharp turn away from the table, snatches his coat up from the couch and leaves the apartment as dramatically as he can. If Rachel can do it, he sure as hell can too.

-

Across town Blaine sits at the counter, Cooper on a stool beside him, a frozen pizza in front of them. The pizza burns his tongue on his first bite and so he waits for it to cool, watches the steam rising from the tomato sauce, feels the weight of his phone, silent in the pocket of his sweatshirt. 

He scratches at his forearm, touches his nose.

“That one’s new,” Cooper remarks, his own mouth full with pizza. Blaine scratches his forearm again, clears his throat. 

“My arm itches,” he says, picks up his pizza, just for something to do.

“Sure,” Cooper relents, but Blaine can feel his eyes on him, watching Blaine’s every movement. Blaine feels his phone vibrate, sets his pizza down so he can pull it out. It’s a text from Kurt, and Blaine shouldn’t be surprised, because who else would be texting him, but it still makes something warm grow in him, every time he gets a text from him. 

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_I hope you don’t have to deal with nosy, overbearing roommates_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Just a nosy, overbearing brother_

 

“Who’re you texting?” Cooper asks, his face schooled into feigned nonchalance. _Right on cue_ , Blaine thinks, shaking his head. 

“I, um…” he thinks about lying, about telling Cooper it’s no one, but he feels guilt creep in, a heavy weight in his stomach. After all, it was Cooper who agreed to let him live with him after the failure of his last roommate situation, it was Cooper who bought him ice cream and let him cry over sappy movies, who gave him a room and puts up with him when it seems like no one else will. And, Blaine figures, Cooper will find out one way or another. He always does.

“I have a date tomorrow,” Blaine says, stares at his pizza. He touches his nose, scratches at his forearm, and that one is going to get old really quickly, he thinks. His arm is already red and irritated, and he forces himself to put his hands in his lap. 

“Like a date date?” Cooper asks, disbelief in his voice. 

“Yes, a date date,” Blaine says, avoids looking at Cooper. His shoulder jumps. “I think.” 

“You think? Or you know?” 

“I think I know?” Blaine pokes at his pizza. 

“So who is this lucky man?” Cooper asks and Blaine snorts. 

“He’s far from lucky if I’m the only person he can land for a date.” His teeth click together and he clears his throat. _Stop being nervous_ , he tells himself. They always get worse when he’s nervous. 

“Stop that,” Cooper says, cuffing Blaine lightly on the shoulder. “He’s definitely lucky if he gets to go on a date with a stud like like you.”

Blaine glares at Cooper. 

“So… who is he? Did you guys have a perfectly adorable meet-cute?”Cooper asks, resting his chin on his hand and batting his eyelashes. 

“He’s, uh, from that website? That you signed me up for?” Blaine’s not sure why this comes out as a question, but it does. 

“I knew it!” Cooper looks extraordinarily happy with himself. “I knew that was a good idea.” 

“We’ll see,” Blaine says.

“Does he know?” Cooper asks, his voice more serious. Blaine clears his throat, scratches his arm. 

“No.” 

Cooper nods. 

“My baby brother, going on a date,” Cooper says after a moment, and Blaine’s glad he didn’t push the subject. “I have some extra large condoms I can give you.”

“You’re so annoying,” Blaine says, but he laughs. They finish their pizza, Cooper rambling about the modeling agency he’s been working for, the newest season of _The Voice_ , and other less serious topics. Blaine has to admit, as awful as Cooper can be sometimes, he alway seems to know when to push Blaine and when to leave things alone. 

They watch a movie while Blaine works on some homework, and tries not to think about tomorrow. 

-

Kurt sits in the coffee shop, his knee bouncing. He’d gotten here a little early, too anxious to sit around the apartment and wait, and figured he’d scope the place out. His phone sits on the table in front of him, the screen dark. He hasn’t texted Blaine, doesn’t want to come across as too excited, so he forces himself to sit and wait. 

They’d agreed to meet at 8, after the activity of the day had a chance to wind down, when they wouldn’t have to rush. It’s 8:05, and Kurt’s starting to feel anxious. The barista brings him the two coffees he’d ordered, one for him and one for Blaine, and he thanks her, sips it even though it’s still too hot. 

8:07

Still too early to get worried, Kurt tells himself. Blaine could be held up on the subway, or maybe he forgot something and had to run back home. Or maybe he was kidnapped, or abducted by aliens or… He shakes his head. He’s coming. 

8:10

Kurt drums his fingers on the table. He’ll give him five more minutes before he texts him. He’s probably just late. 

8:15

8:20

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Please tell me you’re not dead on the street somewhere_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_I ordered two coffees and now the barista is giving me funny looks._

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Are you coming?_

 

8:30 and Blaine’s coffee sits cold across from him. Kurt stares at it, his phone in his hand, still dark. Tears start to prick his eyes, out of embarrassment or frustration or anger, he’s not sure, but he blinks them away, downs the rest of his coffee. He straightens his back, smooths the wrinkles out of his shirt; he knows how to deal with disappointment. This is no different. 

 

**Kurt to Rachel:**

_Are you home?_

 

**Rachel to Kurt:**

_Yeah, why? Need me to leave the apt for awhile? ;)_

 

**Kurt to Rachel:**

_I’m headed back. Have as much ice cream and alcohol ready as you can._

 

**Kurt to Rachel:**

_I think I just got stood up._

 

**Rachel to Kurt:**

_:( Ice cream and alcohol and Moulin Rouge at the ready_

 

**Kurt to Rachel:**

_You’re the best_

 

Kurt stands, avoids the pitying eye of the barista as he throws away the second, untouched cup of coffee, and leaves into the chilly fall evening. 

-

Blaine lays in bed later that night, hidden under his covers. It’s pathetic, it’s _so_ pathetic, he knows it is, but he can’t help it. He stares at his phone, at the texts Kurt had sent. He’d been so prepared, had actually dressed up and tamed his hair and had given himself a pep talk in the mirror. 

But then he’d seen Kurt through the window, sitting so tall and confident, looking even better than he did in his pictures. And he thought of himself, how stupid he must look with his frizzy hair and his tics, with his inability to act like a normal human. Kurt would never want to be with someone like him, and he couldn’t bring himself to take another step, stood frozen until he’d pulled himself away, had turned and walked back to Cooper’s apartment as quickly as he could, tears burning in his eyes.

He was saving them both from the horrible failure this date would have turned into. That’s what he tells himself, even as he brushes his thumb over his phone, clutches it close and tries not to cry. It’s better this way.  

It’s only when sleep starts to drift in, pulling at his eyelids, heavy on his chest, does his phone chime. 

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_I don’t know what happened today, but please let me know you’re okay._

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_I’m okay._

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_I’m sorry._

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings added in this chapter for mild sexual content

Radio Silence. 

After the texts from the night of the disastrous not-date, Kurt hasn’t heard anything from Blaine. A week later and his phone stays silent, and a glance at the dating website shows that Blaine hasn’t logged on in days. Kurt tries to not let it bother him; he certainly isn’t making an effort to contact Blaine either, and since he knows Blaine wasn’t abducted or murdered, he can’t help but still be pissed. Miffed. Thoroughly annoyed.  

But Kurt Hummel is anything if not proud. He’s not going to let one failed date ruin his winning attitude (and oh god, when did he start sounding like Rachel?), no matter how much he was looking forward it. He has other things to focus on, like the increasing responsibilities Isabelle keeps putting on him at work, the mound of school work looming over him, the minor success of Pamela Lansbury, catering to Rachel’s growing ego. It’s a lot of work, and he’s better off without a relationship on top of it. 

Really. He nods emphatically at his closet, lips pursed. 

“Kurt, are you staring at your clothes again?” A voice comes through the curtain and Kurt backs away, crosses his arms over his chest in defiance. 

“No,” he shouts back. “And mind your own business.” 

The curtain pulls back to reveal Rachel’s face looking at him with concern. 

“Kurt…” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Kurt says, his voice short. All Rachel’s wanted to do since last Thursday is pry every vulnerable emotion from him with wine and ice cream, and Kurt is not in the mood for another Nicholas Sparks fueled cry-fest. 

“Oh, um…” He can see Rachel scrambling to come up with another topic. 

“Come get drunk with us,” Santana shouts from where she’s lounging on the couch in only a sports bra and spandex. “I’m sure someone would give you a pity fuck.” 

“Santana!” Rachel hisses, turning on her heels and places her hands firmly on her hips. “We’re supposed to be making him feel better.”

Santana shrugs. “It probably would.” 

Kurt sighs, wonders why in the world he thought living with these two was ever a good idea. 

“Where are you going?” he asks, defeated. 

“Callbacks,” Rachel answers, pastes a smile on her face and grabs Kurt’s arm. “Come with us. It’s a Friday, you deserve to have fun.” 

Kurt considers for a moment; he had planned on spending the night in and working his way through his homework, maybe checking into the office to see if there’s anything he’s forgotten to do. But now that he’s thinking about it, going out does sound like more fun, and he really could use a night where he doesn’t have to think about anything. 

“Sure, why not,” Kurt agrees. Rachel squeals and Santana gives him a thumbs up before rolling off the couch. 

“I’m going to personally make sure you get some action tonight,” Santana says, winking at Kurt before slipping behind the curtains leading to Rachel’s room. Rachel blinks before she’s moving, following Santana into her room.

“Santana, leave my clothes alone!” 

Kurt rolls his eyes, and goes back to staring at his own clothes, only this time he has a purpose. 

-

Papers spill off the table, spread over the floor in disarray. Blaine curses under his breath, drops off the chair to start picking them back up. He thought catching up on homework would take his mind off the past week, off the guilt that has been building inside him, eating away at his stomach. But his tics have been acting up, stress and a lack of sleep causing his body to go haywire, and he can’t concentrate for more than a few minutes without knocking something off the table. 

He throws the papers back on the table, flops down on the small couch with a groan, tries not to feel like an utter failure. The sound of a key scraping the lock of the door makes him tilt his head back as Cooper enters, drops his keys and coat over the rickety armchair. 

“Why the long face?” Cooper asks, frowning at Blaine before making his way to the kitchen, pulling a handful of cheese sticks from the fridge. He tosses one at Blaine and it hits him in the chest. 

“Nothing, just…” Blaine shrugs. “Homework.” 

“Mmm,” Cooper nods, mouth full of cheese stick. He nudges Blaine’s legs until he gives up half of the couch, letting Cooper slide in next to him. 

“Anymore hot dates this weekend?” Cooper asks after both brothers eat their cheese sticks in silence. “Hey, you never told me how it went last week.” 

It’s true, Blaine had purposefully avoided the subject, and Cooper, as much as possible, and between a busy week at school and Cooper having both a photo shoot and a commercial to film this week, they’ve barely run into each other. Which was fine with Blaine. 

“Was he just as dreamy as you imagined?” Cooper continues, nudging Blaine with his elbow. Blaine swallows and blinks, once, twice, three times. 

“It, um…” Blaine starts, looks down at his hands. His skin is calloused, fingers rough and nails chipped the edges. Not the hands an up and coming fashion-designer-slash-broadway-star would want to hold. “It didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?” Cooper asks, and Blaine can see him becoming defensive. “Was he mean to you? If he made fun of you, I swear I’ll kill him. I know people.” 

Blaine shakes his head. 

“No, it just… didn’t happen.” He wants to run away, doesn’t want to admit how pathetic he is. He wants to lie, to change the topic, to do anything except talk about this, but he knows Cooper won’t let it drop, not until he finds out the truth. “I didn’t go.” 

“You didn’t go?” Cooper repeats, squinting his eyes at Blaine. Blaine’s teeth click together, his shoulder jumps, and he feels so small under the scrutiny. “Don’t tell me you didn’t stand him up.” 

Blaine remains silent, clenches his jaw. 

“Blaine.” He can hear the disappointment in Cooper’s voice. “Why?” 

Blaine touches his nose, his teeth click. 

“I thought it was pretty obvious.” 

“What, that this guy was obviously interested in you enough to want to meet you? And that you didn’t even give him a chance?” 

Blaine feels his hackles rise, an angry rush in his ears. 

“You’re right, I didn’t give him a chance to realize what a mistake he was making, or give him a chance to run far away after spending ten minutes with me.” 

Cooper respond at first, his eyes softening, roaming over Blaine’s face. Blaine doesn’t look at him, keeps his gaze focused firmly on the floor. 

“I wish you believed in yourself a little more,” Cooper says, voice uncharacteristically soft. Blaine stands up, doesn’t give Cooper another glance before heading into his room, closing the door behind him. He doesn’t need this, doesn’t need Cooper’s pep talks or pity, doesn’t need his brother to tell him how he should live his life. Cooper has no idea what it’s like, living every day under the stares of other people, being labeled _freak_ and _weirdo_ , people shying away from him in public, laughing behind their hands at his tics. 

He kicks at his mattress, glares at the piles of clothes scattered across his floor before sitting heavily on his bed. Tears burn at his eyes, and he doesn’t understand why this has to happen now, he never should have logged onto that stupid website in the first place. Things were so much better before all this; he was alone, but alone was okay. Alone was safe. But he let himself get wrapped up in this fantasy of Kurt, a pretend world where he could be someone else, someone normal, someone who was worthy of dating someone as beautiful and talented as Kurt. 

Someone who wasn’t him. 

A soft knock on his door and Blaine ignores it, buries his faces into his pillow. He can hear Cooper entering, wishes that they had locks that actually worked on their bedroom doors. The mattress shifts when Cooper sits, and Blaine knows he’s acting like a child throwing a tantrum, but he refuses to move, to give in and look up at Cooper.

“I know life hasn’t always been easy for you,” Cooper says, a hand reaching to rest on Blaine’s arm. “And I know people have been dicks, and I know you have every right to be angry. But, there are good people out there too, you know. I wish you would give them a chance.” 

This makes Blaine roll over, glaring at Cooper.

“Like I gave Jeremy a chance?” 

The only other time he’d gone on a date had been with Jeremy; it was high school and Jeremy had seemed so kind, had been the first person to show any interest in Blaine, and Blaine had fallen for it. Until their date ended in a ten second video uploaded to YouTube of the worst of Blaine’s tics, for everyone to laugh at and mock, for the worst month of Blaine’s life and the realization that humans can be so incredibly cruel. 

“Well, Jeremy was a grade A douchewad,” Cooper says, withdraws his hand from Blaine’s arm. “But that was high school. And you can’t let one bad experience control all your decisions.” 

_It wasn’t one bad experience,_ Blaine wants to say. _It’s a lifetime of humiliation. Of being a joke._ But he doesn’t say it, knows that Cooper will just counter with something uplifting, won’t let it go until Blaine agrees. So he doesn’t say anything. 

“Lets go out tonight,” Cooper says, face lighting up like it’s the best idea he’s ever had. “Let loose a little. And maybe you could practice talking to some cute boys, huh?” 

Blaine groans. “As long as you promise to never say _cute boys_ ever again.” 

Cooper smiles, teeth shining. “Deal.” He stands, grabbing Blaine’s leg and dragging him off the bed. 

“Now get dressed. We’re going to Callbacks.” 

-

Callbacks is surprisingly busy. The music is loud, the bar is crowded, and it takes a bit of navigating for them to find a table. Santana orders them their first round, something that tastes too sweet and Kurt’s sure has enough alcohol to kill him if he drinks more than one. Dani shows up shortly after they sit, greets Santana with a kiss that turns into something a little more than PG, and Kurt downs his whole drink when Santana’s hand lands on Dani’s breast. 

Sam arrives in a flurry of commotion, a fine layer of snow dusting his hair, makes some excuse about a photo shoot running late, before heading to the bar and ordering three beers, all for himself. Elliott comes after, more dressed down than Kurt’s seen him in awhile, his hair flopping onto his forehead, clothes looking like he probably picked them up off the floor on his way out. And Kurt can’t help but smile, as his friends crowd around a table not meant for this many people, bickering and pushing each other out of the way. He’s pretty lucky, he thinks, despite how nosy and annoying they can be, that he has such great friends. 

“We’re getting Kurt laid tonight!” Santana shouts, way too loud, already onto her third drink and Kurt decides he’s taking that back. His friends are the worst. 

“Laid?” Sam asks, looking more excited than he should, and Kurt lets his head fall onto the table. 

“I’m perfectly capable of getting myself laid if I want,” Kurt says, glaring back up at Santana. 

“Uh huh,” she nods in a voice that tells him she disagrees with him entirely. 

And then one drink turns into two turns into three turns into four, and soon Kurt’s joining them in glancing around the bar, ranking potential bed-mates on a scale of ten. There are a lot of sixes, a handful of eights, and a rare sprinkling of nines. They make fun of the freshman that dare to venture up to the microphone, cheer on their fellow classmates singing drunken love ballads, and Kurt can’t remember the last time he actually had this much fun. Until Santana and Dani disappear with fingers tangled together to the ladies bathroom, Santana somehow managing to glide effortlessly in her heels despite the amount of alcohol in her system.

“It’s not fair,” Rachel pouts when Kurt points it out. 

“It must be her center of gravity,” Elliott says, taking a deep swig of beer. Rachel slaps his shoulder and he laughs. 

“Oh! A ten!” Rachel’s shout is abrupt, her finger pointing across the bar. “A ten!” 

Kurt turns his head, tries to figure out who she’s pointing to.

“Tall, dark, and handsome?” Kurt asks, nodding his head towards a man sitting at the bar, with perfectly groomed hair, an ass that looks amazing even when sitting, and cheekbones that could probably cut through paper.

Rachel nods. “He’s dreamy.” 

Sam squints, chokes on his beer. “Guys, that’s Cooper Anderson. He’s a model at my agency.”

Rachel considers him again before turning to Sam. “Well? Would he sleep with Kurt?” 

“Sorry, Kurt, he’s straight as a nail.” 

Kurt just shrugs; he honestly doesn’t have any intention of hooking up with anyone tonight, but it’s fun to entertain his friends. Rachel lights up, however, immediately smoothing down her hair.

“Would he sleep with me?” 

Sam lifts an eyebrow. “Probably.” 

Rachel’s starting to stand when something catches Kurt’s eye. 

“Holy shit,” Kurt says, eyes widening, mouth suddenly dry. 

“What?” Rachel asks, looking down at herself. “Is there something wrong with my dress?” 

Kurt doesn’t answer, just grabs her arm and yanks her back into the seat beside him. 

“The guy beside him. I think that’s Blaine.”

“Short curly dude?” Sam asks, everyone’s attention focused on the bar. 

“Yeah,” Kurt says, just as Santana and Dani make it back to the table, hair ruffled and lipstick smudged. 

“What’s going on?” Santana asks, flopping onto the chair. 

“Kurt thinks he sees Blaine,” Rachel explains, and Santana immediately sits straight. 

“Online Blaine? Stood-you-up-for-a-date Blaine?” 

“The very one,” Kurt says with a sigh. He only has seen the one blurry picture of Blaine, so he can’t be completely sure, but the floppy dark curls, the shy smile as he talks to the man beside him, the knock-off scarf wrapped around his neck, all remind him of Blaine. The Blaine he thought he had something with, the Blaine who left him alone in a coffee shop. 

“Go talk to him!” Rachel says, pushing at his arm. “Maybe you guys can talk and everything will make sense.”

“He definitely doesn’t look like a serial killer,” Sam adds. 

“Thanks, Sam. Helpful,” Kurt says, voice dry. 

“Or we could beat him up for you,” Santana adds and Dani giggles and makes a fist. 

“You guys suck,” Kurt says, sipping his drink through the tiny stirring straw. It’s tempting, the idea of just ignoring Blaine, pretending he never saw him, to just finish his drink and leave, put this all behind him. But, he can’t help the curiosity building inside of him, and he just wants to know _why._

So he downs the rest of his drink, stands and brushes imaginary lint off his shirt. 

“Go get some, Hummel,” Santana says with a whistle. Kurt flips her off and crosses the bar.

-

Blaine stares down at his drink, surprised at how buzzed he feels after only two beers. 

“How strong is this?” he asks Cooper, sloshing a little over the edge when his shoulder jumps. 

“I get the good stuff, lil’ bro,” Cooper says with a wink, his own drink almost half gone. Blaine had tried to order a diet coke when they first got here, but Cooper had slapped two IDs on the counter and ordered them drinks Blaine had never heard of. 

“Cooper, I’m not twenty-one,” Blaine had hissed at him when the bartender had glanced at the IDs. 

“Shh,” Cooper had said, pressing a finger to his lips. “It’s time you got yourself a fake ID. And besides, everyone knows they don’t really care in this city.”

It’s true, the bartender had barely set eyes on the IDs when he gave them back to Cooper and began preparing their drinks. And Blaine feels guilty, he’s not used to so blatantly breaking the law, but he has to admit it feels good, his tics fading away in the mindless buzz of alcohol. He almost feels normal. 

“Blaine?” 

A voice from behind him, and Blaine’s head snaps around. 

Kurt.

It’s Kurt. 

Oh god.

His mouth feels dry and all he can do is blink as Kurt steps forward, looking tall and perfect, even in the dim bar lighting. 

“Blaine, right?” Kurt asks, looking worried, like he’s making a mistake. It takes Blaine a moment for his brain to start working again, and he nods. Swallows. Feels Cooper kick his feet. 

“Yeah,” he says, voice cracking. “Kurt?” 

Kurt nods, a brief smile pulling at his lips. 

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Blaine says, doesn’t know why he says it, his mouth running without his permission, and Kurt’s face falls, feet pausing in their steps forward. Cooper kicks his feet again, this time hard enough to hurt. 

“Oh,” Kurt says, voice flat. “I’ll go.” He takes a step away before Blaine comes to his senses.

“No!” Blaine says, nearly shouts, feels his cheeks flush in embarrassment. “I mean. You don’t have to.” 

He can hear Cooper give a sigh beside him, bury his face in his drink.

“Okay?” Kurt says, obviously confused, but he doesn’t take any more steps away. 

“I, um…” Blaine starts, blinks twice, feels the urge to jump over the counter and hid in a deep, dark whole where no one can ever find him. Kurt raises his eyebrows, waiting for Blaine to finish. Blaine just shrugs, grabs his drink just for something to do with his hands. 

“Were you going to explain what happened last week?” Kurt asks, face guarded, and Blaine’s pretty sure his heart just had an arrhythmia. “Or why I haven’t heard from you since?” 

_I’m so sorry,_ Blaine wants to say. _It wasn’t you. Please don’t think it was you._

Instead he mumbles something that sounds vaguely like an apology, grips his drink even harder, spills a little over the edge when his arm jerks. 

“All right, well… I’ll leave you to it,” Kurt says, lips forming a thin line. This is it. Blaine blew it. He had one chance and he completely blew it. 

“Oh my god,” Cooper bursts next to them, spinning around on the barstool until he’s facing them. “Kurt, right?” 

Kurt nods. 

“You’ll have to excuse my little brother here, he can be emotionally stunted at the best of times.” Blaine turns and glares at Cooper. _Shut up_ , he mouths at him, but Cooper just winks. “What are you drinking, Kurt? Actually, you know what, don’t answer that. I know what you two need.” 

Both Kurt and Blaine watch with mouths open as Cooper flags down the bartender, orders two drinks, both a shade of purple that Blaine’s not entirely sure is safe for human consumption. 

“Now,” Cooper says, passing them each a drink. “I’m going to go talk to that pretty lady over there, and Kurt, you’re going to sit here and you guys are going to do… whatever you guys do.” 

And Cooper stands in one swift motion, pats Kurt’s shoulder, before making his way across the bar, leaving them alone. Blaine groans, rubs a hand over his face, wonders if the night could get any more embarrassing.

“That was… something,” Kurt says, eyes still wide with surprise, glances back at Cooper, already making small talk with a woman across the bar. 

“That’s my brother,” Blaine says, still can’t bring himself to actually look at Kurt. He looks at his drink instead. Kurt takes the stool Cooper just left, cautiously sips the drink. 

“This tastes like poison,” Kurt says, making a face. “Poisonous gummy bears.” 

Blaine tries the drink and has to agree, it burns his throat as he swallows. 

“It’s terrible,” Blaine says, but takes another sip anyways. Kurt nods, drums his fingers on the counter. 

“So…” Kurt starts, at the same time Blaine says “Kurt, I’m so…”

They both stop and Kurt lets out a small laugh, his nose scrunching in a way that shouldn’t be as cute as it is. 

“You go first,” Kurt says, takes another drink and grimaces. Blaine bites his lip, feels his shoulder jump but the action is smaller, more muted, the alcohol in his system making everything a little slower. 

“I was going to go.” The words fall out of his mouth before he can stop them, and he feels warm, more confident than usual. “I wanted to, I really did.” 

“Then why didn’t you?” Kurt asks, his voice soft, and for the first time he doesn’t sound angry, only curious. “Why’d you stand me up?” 

Blaine downs the rest of the purple monstrosity in one gulp, the world already starting to tilt a little dangerously. 

“I was scared.” 

“Scared of what?” Kurt asks, eyes focused intently on Blaine. _What wasn’t I scared of_?

“That you wouldn’t like me.” And now he sounds like a petulant two year old. Great. 

“Blaine…” Kurt starts, and Blaine finally looks up, can see the confused crease between his brow. He opens his mouth to say more, but whatever it is is cut off by a body slamming into them.

“Come on!” A girl whines, pulling at Kurt’s arm. She’s tall, with dark hair and a body a model would be jealous of. “You guys are killing me.” 

“Santana,” Kurt hisses. 

“What?” She throws her hands up. “You guys are as boring as a castration support group. We’re going to dance.” 

She pulls at Kurt’s arm again and Kurt slips off the stool, nearly falling into her. Santana looks Blaine up and down. 

“You come too,” she says, pulls Blaine off the stool despite Blaine’s protests that he definitely doesn’t dance. She ignores him, and Blaine can’t tell if Santana is actually a friend of Kurt’s or maybe his mortal enemy, with the glares he’s sending her. But he turns to Blaine, a bashful smile pulling at his lips.

“Would you?” Kurt asks, holds a hand out. “Dance with me, I mean?”

Normally, Blaine would pull away, run and hide under his covers at home, safe and alone, would avoid any situation that could lead to possible humiliation. Maybe it’s the alcohol in his system, or maybe it’s the way Kurt looks at him with such hopeful eyes, but he finds himself taking Kurt’s hands, warm fingers wrapping around his own, and letting Kurt lead him to the dance floor. 

_Please don’t let this be a mistake_ , he thinks, even as he sees Cooper wink at him from across the room. 

_Please don’t let me screw this up_.

-

Blaine’s tense, that much is obvious. Tense in a drunk sort of way, Kurt muses, his limbs not exactly cooperating as Kurt tries to guide him on the dance floor. And maybe a live acapella version of _Wannabe_ isn’t exactly the best music to dance to, but Kurt gets the impression that Blaine doesn’t have much experience dancing in bars. Or dancing at all. 

“I’m sorry, I just…” Blaine lets his arms collapse by his sides after a moment, shoulders slumping. “I’m not good at this.” 

“You’re thinking too hard,” Kurt says, takes a step closer until he’s only a few inches away from Blaine. He smells like bar soap and sweat, like laundry detergent and boy, but Kurt doesn’t think he’s smelled anything so good in a long time. “Can I?” He puts his hands near Blaine’s waist but doesn’t touch, not until Blaine gives a slight nod. Blaine’s waist is soft under his hands, and Kurt can tell he’s wearing a few layers under his cardigan, but Kurt just lets his hands rest there, with only a gentle pressure. He pulls Blaine in closer, until Blaine’s breath his warm on his neck, his curls tickling Kurt’s cheek. 

The song changes to something slower, a wavering love ballad sung by a student who’s obviously had a little too much to drink. But it’s better, Kurt can tell Blaine’s a little more comfortable like this, the pressure lessened and they can just sway to the music. 

“See? This isn’t so bad,” Kurt says, and his breath must have tickled Blaine’s ear because his head jerks to the side, only a little. 

“Easy for you to say,” Blaine says. “You’re a natural.”

Kurt tries to give a little curtsy but ends up stumbling over his feet, the alcohol in his system making world spin precariously. Blaine laughs, hands catching Kurt’s shoulder before he can completely topple over. It ends with Blaine’s hands pressed against Kurt’s chest, Kurt leaning against Blaine in a way he probably shouldn’t with someone he just met.

“Sorry,” Kurt apologizes, stepping away. “Drinking brings out my clumsiness.” 

“It’s okay,” Blaine says, closing the distance Kurt just created. “You can’t be as clumsy as I am.” 

Kurt’s not sure if it’s the alcohol, but there’s a new confidence in Blaine, something he hadn’t seen in the texts and bashful messages on the dating website. There’s a rawness to him, the way he keeps glancing at Kurt’s lips, the way his eyelashes brush his cheeks when he blinks, the hands on Kurt’s arms, unsure but reluctant to let go. Kurt gets the impression this is something he’s wanted for a long time, this closeness to someone, to feel wanted, but hasn’t had the courage to find. Until now. 

The music picks up and this time Blaine tries, his body close to Kurt’s and it’s a little awkward, their timing a little off, hands and feet bumping against each other. But Blaine’s cute, cuter than the grainy picture on the dating website had made him out to be, and Kurt can’t deny the way his pants have become a little tight, something stirring in him in a way it hasn’t in a long time.  

“Do you think we could try again?” Kurt asks, during a break in the music, Blaine leaning against him. 

“I would like that,” Blaine says, smiles up at him. He’s blinking a lot and Kurt wonders if he got something in his eyes, or maybe the all the alcohol in the purple acid they’d drunk is irritating them. Because that’s totally a thing, right? But Blaine starts to look annoyed, rubs at his face and Kurt decides they’ve been dancing long enough, can feel the sweat starting to drip down the back of his neck, so he grabs Blaine’s hand and pulls him off the dance floor, heading back towards the bathrooms. 

He only has the intention of helping Blaine figure out what’s wrong with his eyes, but the bathroom is oddly empty, and Blaine stumbles against him when they make their way through the door. Stumbles at just the right angle, so that Kurt can feel Blaine against his leg, can tell he’s not the only one having a problem keeping himself under control. 

Blaine giggles, grabs onto Kurt for support, his body heavy against him. And Kurt can’t help it, Blaine’s big doe eyes gaze up into his own, his tongue darting across his lips and Kurt presses him against the wall, lips finding Blaine’s. They’re soft, a little damp from Blaine’s tongue, and Blaine gives a surprised gasp, but doesn’t pull away. 

“Is this okay?” Kurt breathes, worried for a moment by Blaine’s stillness that he’s gone too far. 

“Yeah,” Blaine says, hands reaching to grip Kurt’s arms, keeping him from pulling away. 

“Can I kiss you again?” Kurt asks, voice barely over a whisper, his hand falling to rest on Blaine’s hip. Blaine nods, looks nervous but not scared, and Kurt leans in again, presses a kiss to Blaine’s neck, two, three, before working his way back up to Blaine’s lips. 

A tiny noise makes it’s way from Blaine’s throat when their lips touch, and Kurt can’t help but smile, his grip on Blaine’s hips tightening just a little. A small part of his brain tells him this is too fast, that they’ve just met, that this boy blew him off only a week ago, that they barely know each other and here they are, making out in a bathroom. It’s not right, he doesn’t want to add this to a growing list of things he regrets, but Kurt pushes the thoughts away, buries them under how good this feels, how Blaine fits so perfectly against him, how he’s so achingly hard in his jeans that he feels like he might burst. 

He deepens the kiss, tongue teasing at the seam of Blaine’s lips until they part; Blaine tastes like beer, like purple liquor, a hint of toothpaste. Blaine groans, his hips pushing forward against Kurt’s, clumsy and desperate. 

“Please,” he whispers, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. Kurt lets his hand drift down a little more, feels the hard length of Blaine, the way he presses into his touch. His lips find Blaine’s once more, hand stroking against the rough fabric of Blaine’s jeans, Blaine panting into his mouth. Kurt wonders if he’s really considering giving Blaine a blowjob in the bathroom when Blaine stutters against him, fingers digging into Kurt’s arm, and it takes Kurt a moment to realize that Blaine just came. 

“Oh my god,” Blaine whispers, head against Kurt’s shoulder, Kurt’s mind still reeling from how fast that was. His shoulder twitches against Kurt’s, and he pulls back, cheeks flushed, eyes still blinking. 

“Was that your first time?” Kurt asks, doesn’t know why those words slip from his lips, can only watch as Blaine’s face shifts from embarrassed to mortified. 

“I should go,” he says, a slight tremble to his voice. He pulls away from Kurt, stops and presses his palms to his eyes, takes a deep breath. 

“I didn’t mean…” Kurt starts, stops. What did he mean? “It’s okay if it was, I just…”

Blaine shakes his head before Kurt can continue. 

“I need to go.” Blaine looks back at Kurt, his shoulders slumped and his eyes red, and Kurt thinks he looks defeated. Lost. And then he’s turning, pushing through the bathroom door and disappearing into the crowd, leaving Kurt with the sinking feeling in his gut that he just ruined everything. 

_Fuck._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this chapter! I'll try and get the next one out faster!

The next day is the worst Blaine’s had in a long time. Even after the hangover has lessened, the pounding in his head fading away, the nauseous rolling of his stomach and anxious jolts to the bathroom nearly gone; even after the too-hot shower, teeth brushed clean and pills washed down with the water Cooper had graciously left at his bedside. Even after he’s pushed the embarrassment of the night before to the back of his mind, his phone checked a million times with no new messages. 

Even after all that. The tics that had been suppressed by the haze of alcohol the night before are back, and this time Blaine’s sure they’re determined to punish him. Maybe he deserves it, he thinks, pacing around his room before flopping back onto his bed. He’s had two chances with Kurt, and both times he’s completely blown it, has left Kurt alone with no explanation, no insight to his odd behavior. If only he was the courageous boy he so badly wants to be, if only he didn’t let himself hide in shame, if only he was confident enough to not care what other people thought of his tics, to stand tall despite the eyes always drawn to him, the whispers and smirks and laughs. 

If only.

His jaw snaps shut hard enough to make his teeth hurt, his shoulder jumping, eyes blinking fast enough to give him vertigo. The nose touching has turned into a painful slap to his chest, the sound reverberating in a thump through his ribcage. The clicking noise is back, and he wants to cry at the injustice of it all. 

A quiet knock on his door, the handle clicking as Cooper eases himself into the room. 

“Hey, Squirt,” Cooper greets, another glass of water clutched in his hand. Blaine doesn’t dare take it, his arm swinging up to slap his chest once, twice, three times. Cooper winces sympathetically, instead sets the water down beside the bed. 

“Haven’t seen that one in a while,” he says, folding himself onto the bed beside Blaine, legs crossed. He has to click before he can talk, and he wonders if it’s possible to pull a muscle in your eye socket.

“I’m never drinking again,” Blaine says, tries to release a deep breath through his teeth, tries to focus his energy like his therapist tells him to, but he’s too distracted, too anxious, and it all bundles inside of him like a ball of frantic, electric energy. 

_Thump._

“Try the leg thing,” Cooper says, voice calm, even though Blaine knows he’s a little freaked out. He hasn’t had an episode this bad in a long time. 

It’s a trick they learned a few years ago, when the hitting tics were at their worst. Whenever he feels the urge to tic, he puts his hand on his leg and presses as hard as he can, redirects the energy somewhere else. It works, at least for now, and he can feel the sting in his chest start to lessen. He breathes again, slower this time, focuses on the flow of air into his lungs, out again. 

“I’m sorry,” Cooper says after a moment, sounding uncharacteristically sincere. “I shouldn’t have made you go out, and I shouldn’t have pressured you to drink.” 

Blaine clicks, pushes his hand into his leg, wonders if he’ll have a bruise there later. 

“It’s okay,” he says, nudges against Cooper. “It’s not your fault your brother’s a weirdo.” 

“Hey,” Cooper says, nudging back. “Don’t talk about my brother that way. I’ll have to beat you up.” 

“Stand in line,” Blaine mumbles, jaw snapping shut. 

One. Two. Three. 

Cooper raises a questioning eyebrow.

“I screwed up,” Blaine explains, unable to meet Cooper’s eye. “With Kurt. Again.” 

“What happened?” Cooper asks, and Blaine can feel his cheeks growing red. 

“We sort of…” he stops, tongue clicking and shoulder jumping before he can continue. “Made out in the bathroom? And then I ran away?” 

He says it like a question, still avoiding Cooper’s gaze, shame burning hot inside of him. It sounds even worse out loud. 

“Blaine,” Cooper says, exasperated. “Why did you run away?” 

“I don’t know,” Blaine says, throwing his hands up. “I just… freaked out.” 

This time he lets the tic carry through. _Thump. Thump._

“Oh Blaine,” Cooper pulls Blaine into a hug, his arm pressed between them and Blaine clenches his fist, tries to direct his energy there. “What are we going to do with you?” 

“Put me out of my misery?” Blaine suggests, words slightly muffled by Cooper’s shoulder. He tics against him, but Cooper doesn’t let go. 

“Someday,” Cooper says, squeezing Blaine extra hard. “You’ll believe me when I say you’re worth it.” 

Blaine closes his eyes, leans into Cooper, and wishes he could believe it. 

-

It takes until nearly four in the afternoon for Kurt to feel like a normal human being again. He sketches a few rough designs, pokes at the essay for his history class, drinks at least five cups of coffee, and pointedly avoids thinking about the night before. About the ache that sits in his stomach, the feeling that he screwed up, mixed with an annoyance at being abandoned for the second time by Blaine. 

Blaine. 

He pushes the thought from his mind, runs a hand through disheveled hair, falls back against the couch. Truthfully, he’s not sure he ever wants to see Blaine again; the whole situation is too messy, and Kurt’s not sure that he’s up for a one-sided chase, if pursuing Blaine is always going to end with Kurt feeling alone and foolish. 

“I’m not calling him,” Kurt snaps, when Rachel pushes his phone toward him. She’s curled up on the other end of the couch, her foot nudging the phone placed on the coffee table. “Or texting, or date website-ing, or whatever else you want me to do.” 

Rachel frowns, but takes her foot off the coffee table, which is disgusting in it’s own right. 

“Don’t you want to know what happened?” she asks, looking up from the fashion magazine she’s been browsing through. 

“He ran away from me twice, Rachel,” Kurt says, giving her a pointed look. “I’m not going to be stupid enough to have it happen a third time.” 

“He’s got a point,” Santana says, making her first appearance of the day, hair messy and pajamas rumpled. She heads straight towards the coffee maker, pouring herself a generous mug. 

“I thought you were the one who wanted him to hook up with Blaine,” Rachel says, sending Santana a confused glance. 

“Hook up, yeah. But being burned twice?” she makes a face. “Ouch.”

“Thanks,” Kurt deadpans, throwing his sketchbook next to his phone. “You girls really know how to cheer a guy up.” 

“There’s other fish in the sea, other boy toys on the internet,” Santana says, taking a swig of her coffee, finger brushing her hair into something that looks like a semblance of normal. “You’ll find someone else.” 

“You’re such a romantic,” Kurt says, but she has a point. Just because his first online dating attempt ended in failure, doesn’t mean they all will. 

“Ooh, can I help you pick out someone else?” Rachel says, giving an excited bounce and already reaching for Kurt’s laptop. 

“It’s not like buying a new wardrobe, Rachel.” Kurt rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t take the laptop from her. Maybe it’ll get his mind off things, he thinks, clearing the space on the couch in between them and letting Rachel cozy up beside him. 

“Look at this guy,” Rachel says, pointing at the screen. “He has abs _and_ helps children!”

-

Thanksgiving. 

Blaine and Cooper don’t go home to Ohio, but their mom flies out to visit, to Blaine’s dismay. He loves his mom, he really does, but ever since the divorce she seems to have put all her energy into cooing and fussing over him. 

The episode from the day after the bar has faded a little over the past week, but the clicking noise still persists. He’s managed to channel the chest slapping into a small knee slap; still inconvenient and annoying, but less dramatic and painful, so he’ll consider it a success. It doesn’t take long for the story to come out; the last time Diane had visited his tics were barely noticeable. This results in Cooper being subjected to a long lecture on responsibility and serving alcohol to minors and _honestly, you’d think you were raised by a barbarian._ Blaine feels bad enough that he comes to Cooper’s defense. 

“It’s not like Cooper held me down and forced me to drink,” he says, his mother shooting a look at him that tells him to stay out of this.

“That’s not the point,” she says, before continuing to lecture Cooper on the responsibilities of being the older brother. Blaine shoots him an apologetic look and a shrug that says _I tried_.  

After the lecture, and after Diane has spent most of the day tidying up their apartment, they go out for Chinese food, because his mother’s never been one for cooking and it seems pointless when there’s only three of them. It’s good, and for the first time in almost a week Blaine feels some of the weight lifted off him, actually lets himself laugh over his plate of lo mein, doesn’t let himself worry about the strangers that might stare.  

That night they put on _A Christmas Story_ , even though it’s not quite December yet, and snuggle into the small couch with hot cocoa and popcorn. Cooper falls asleep about halfway through, and Blaine lets himself snuggle next to his mom, like he used to do when he was younger and needed comfort. Diane runs her hands through his hair, combs out of a few of the tangles. His tics have calmed through the evening as the stress has melted from his shoulders, anxiety barely a knot in his stomach. 

“What’s been going on?” Diane asks, voice gentle. Blaine shifts against her, clicks his tongue, shoulder jumping. 

“What do you mean?” Blaine asks, pulling the blanket higher. 

“Something’s bothering you,” Diane says. “I’m your mother, I can tell.” 

Blaine chuckles. Clicks. Hits his knee. 

“Just… stressed out at school,” he says. He doesn’t look at his mom, but he can feel her eyes searching him. 

“I believe that,” she says, gently massage his shoulder. He almost groans it feels so good; he hadn’t realized how sore it had gotten. “But I don’t think that’s all.” 

Blaine sighs. “I… I’ve been trying to see someone,” he starts, stops. Isn’t really sure where to go from here.

“Okay,” his mom says, gives him time to gather his thoughts. 

“And I really like him, but I just… I ran away. Literally.” 

“Well… does he like you?”

Blaine shrugs. “I thought he did, but… I don’t know now. He hasn’t texted me since.” 

“Have you texted him?”

Blaine stares at the blanket. 

“No,” he answers, and he even he can hear the guilt in his voice.

“Well, that seems simple enough. Text him. Or call him. If you really like this guy, you have to try.” 

Blaine’s silent for a moment, his mother’s words running through his head. 

“He probably doesn’t want to give me another chance,” Blaine says, remembering the look on Kurt’s face when he’d asked Blaine if it was his first time. 

“Maybe not, but how will you know if you don’t talk to him?” Diane asks, raising an eyebrow at Blaine. “Maybe he’s worrying about the same things you are right now.” 

“You’re probably right,” Blaine relents. “I’m just nervous.” 

“If you weren’t, he probably wouldn’t be the right guy,” his mom says, nudging him playfully. “Everyone gets nervous before dates.” 

“Not everyone goes to their dates a twitchy mess,” Blaine says, staring down at his knees. His shoulder gives a powerful jump and his teeth snap together painfully, as if trying to prove his point.

“Blaine,” Diane says, voice almost a warning. “Things are never going to get better if you fight them all the time. I know things haven’t been easy for you, and that you’ve had to deal with some awful people in your life, but nothing good is going to happen if you don’t try.” 

Blaine feels tears sting his eyes and he tries to swallow them back, doesn’t want his mom to see the raw nerve her words are cutting into. 

“You need to try, Little Bee,” she says, using his nickname from when he was young. “You can’t hide away forever.” 

This time Blaine can’t stop the tear that escapes, feels a little pathetic when he sniffs, presses himself closer to his mom. She feels safe, a net that will always help keep him together, but he knows she’s right. He can’t hide forever and wait for good things to happen to him. He has to find them himself. 

“And if he doesn’t like you for you, all of you, then he’s not the right one. But you can’t know if you don’t try, right?”

Blaine nods in agreement, wipes at his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry I’m a mess,” he says, his voice shaky.

Diane presses a kiss to the top of his head.

“The world’s messy. You fit right in,” she says. Blaine gives a small laugh, clicks three times. 

“I’ll try,” he says, tries to lock the words away for later, when he’s alone and the doubts come crawling back in. 

“That’s all you have to do.”

-

 Thanksgiving comes and goes. Kurt flies to Lima for the holiday, and it’s nice to see his dad and Carole, but he misses the city when he’s gone. And it doesn’t wait for him. He already has piles of homework, a stack of papers to file at work, a performance to get ready for, and two dates lined up from the dating website, stamped with the Rachel seal of approval.

The first date happens the Tuesday after Thanksgiving, during his allotted three to five study break. Kurt taps his pen and bounces his knee, anxious as Mr. Too-Good-To-Be-True sits down across from him. His hair is too blond, his chest too broad, his smile too white, and Kurt can’t help but think of dark curls, of a shy smile, bashful eyelashes sweeping warm cheeks. His name is Josh, and while the date isn’t unpleasant, an anxious knot grows in Kurt’s stomach, one the coffee can’t wash away, and it’s silly, he knows it is, but he can’t get rid of the thought that he’s betraying Blaine. 

There’s no reason to feel like this, he tells himself. He barely even met Blaine, and despite the fact that he can’t think about that meeting without blushing, he was the one who was left in the dust, alone without an explanation. It’s been over two weeks and he hasn’t received a single text from Blaine; for all he knows, Blaine regrets ever having met him, and wants nothing else to do with him. He needs to let this go, he knows he does, but it still weighs at the back of his mind, sits uneasily in his stomach. 

That evening, after the failed date and a headache inducing day at school, he falls onto his bed, pulls his phone out of his pocket, swipes at the screen. Blaine’s messages stare at him, the single _I’m sorry_ at the bottom of the screen. Kurt bites his lip, drums his fingers against his blankets. 

_You alive?_

He deletes the words as soon as he writes them, cursing himself for sounding so stupid. 

_I can’t stop thinking about you_.

Delete.

_You said you wanted to try again, and then you ran away. What’s up with that?_

Delete.

_I can’t get your stupid brown eyes out of my head._

Delete.

Kurt throws the phone on his bed in frustration, rolls onto his stomach and groans into his pillow. 

“Maybe I should stay a bachelor forever,” he says to Bruce, his human shaped pillow. He imagines himself in twenty years, already too old for the fashion industry, aging too fast for Broadway, coming home to an empty apartment, only a cat around to greet him. The apartment is filled with cobwebs and paper plates, a vacant existence for his vacant life; and there he would die, old and alone. 

Kurt blinks, shakes his head. Picks up his phone. 

_We should talk_. 

He sends it before he can think about it, buries the phone under his pillow before rolling off the bed and making his way to the kitchen. There’s a pint of mint ice cream with his name on it. 

-

Cooper’s sitting on the couch, Blaine asleep beside him when he hears the noise. A buzzing, coming from under one of Blaine’s physics books. Blaine sniffs, lips smacking together, but he doesn’t wake. He’s been so stressed lately, his school work taking up most of his energy, his frustration with himself consuming the rest. Cooper knows he’ll be mad that Cooper didn’t wake him to finish his homework, but he needs the rest, however much he can get. 

The buzzing noise sounds again, Blaine stirring a little more this time, and Cooper fishes out the phone from under the book as quietly as he can. He knows he shouldn’t snoop, but it doesn’t stop him from glancing at the screen, blinking in surprise when he sees Kurt’s name on the screen. He’d been encouraging Blaine to get in contact with the boy, but he hadn’t thought he’d actually follow through. 

He unlocks the phone, knows Blaine’s passcode by heart by now, opens the message. 

_We should talk_.

Three simple words, the first message in what looks like several weeks. So this Kurt person is still thinking about Blaine, still interested in making… something happen. Cooper glances over at Blaine, watches the slow rise and fall of his chest, the papers spread out on his lap, crinkled and worn. If he leaves it up to his little brother, nothing will ever happen, despite all of his resolutions, he’ll never take action, never step forward and fix things. 

_hello handsome stranger_

Cooper texts back, has to bite back a smile. This might make him the worst brother in the world, but he’ll be damned if he lets Blaine waste this opportunity. 

 

**Kurt to Cooper:**

_…Is this Blaine?_

 

**Cooper to Kurt:**

_negative. this is cooper, blaine’s dashingly handsome brother_

 

**Kurt to Cooper:**

_Right… Is Blaine available?_

 

**Cooper to Kurt:**

_sorry, blaine can’t currently be trusted with bettering his future_

 

**Kurt to Cooper:**

_Okay….?_

 

**Cooper to Kurt:**

_BUT you can talk to him in person_

 

**Cooper to Kurt:**

_he’ll be at jive tomorrow at 5_

 

**Kurt to Cooper:**

_Why do you think I’d want to meet him again? He made it pretty clear he wasn’t interested_

 

**Cooper to Kurt:**

_my brother may be socially awkward and emotionally incompetent, but he is definitely interested. also, you texted first_

 

**Kurt to Cooper:**

_Wow, you really know how to sell this_

 

**Cooper to Kurt:**

_look, my brother really likes you, but too shy for his own good, and there’s something he needs to tell you. just give him one more chance, that’s all I ask_

 

**Kurt to Cooper:**

_One more chance_

 

**Cooper to Kurt:**

_tomorrow. 5. jive_

 

**Kurt to Cooper:**

_Fine. Last chance._

 

**Cooper to Kurt:**

_thanks._

 

**Cooper to Kurt:**

_please be kind to him_

 

**Cooper to Kurt:**

_or I will kill you_

 

**Cooper to Kurt:**

_also don’t tell him I talked to you_

 

**Kurt to Cooper:**

_Death threats. Secrecy. You’re a great brother_

 

**Cooper to Kurt:**

_I try_

 

**Cooper to Kurt:**

_over and out_

 

Cooper waits five more minutes to make sure Kurt’s not going to text back before carefully deleting the conversation, slipping the phone back under the physics book. He digs through Blaine’s bag, finds his keyring and slides the house key off, slipping it into his pocket. 

“You’re going to thank me later,” Cooper whispers, resting a hand on Blaine’s knee and giving it a slight squeeze before standing, heading to his bedroom. He has a photo shoot tomorrow, and he needs to get his beauty sleep.

-

It’s four-thirty and Blaine feels close to a meltdown. His physics test had covered an entire section he hadn’t studied for, his group project has gotten pushed forward by two weeks, he’d ticced so loudly in class that someone had snickered, and now he can’t find his stupid key. He swears it was in his bag, but he’d left before Cooper, and hadn’t bothered to lock up on his way out, and now he can’t find it anywhere. 

And so he stands in the middle of the sidewalk, feeling near tears, struggling to pull his phone out of his pocket. He calls Cooper, who seems unfazed by his terrible day, tells him to go hang out at the coffee shop down the street and work on some homework until he gets done with work. Blaine curses at him before he feels bad and apologizes, hikes his bag up on his shoulders, and trudges through the fresh snow to the coffee shop. Snow dusts his hair, the cold wind biting at his cheeks, and the warmth of the cafe is a welcome relief. He orders a cup of coffee with cream, settles down at a table, figures he might as well get something done as long as he’s waiting. 

He’s immersed in a calculus assignment when the bell over the door jingles, a cold gust of air washing over his back. He shivers, clicks his tongue, shoulder jumping, but he doesn’t look up from his book, brain working to figure out this equation. 

When. 

“Excuse me?” 

His head whips around, eyes blinking forcefully as he takes in the speaker beside him. Kurt. Kurt’s here. Why is Kurt here? 

“Hi,” Kurt says, offers Blaine a small wave. He looks nervous, cheeks pink from the cold, a scarf wrapped around his neck. 

“Jesus.” The word slips out before Blaine can stop it, his head already beginning to ache, the day too long for another unexpected surprise to be thrown at him. 

“Nope, just Kurt,” Kurt says, smile faltering a little. “Sorry to disappoint.” 

“That’s not…” Blaine stops, wonders why he keeps screwing up when it comes to Kurt. “I’m sorry, I just… was surprised.” 

He can feel the urge to tic, an itch on his knee, in his jaw, his shoulder, but he steels his jaw, swallows it down. 

“I do keep sneaking up on you,” Kurt says, steps forward, hesitates. Blaine looks at Kurt, but all he can remember is the feel of his lips, the tenderness of his tongue. He looks back down. 

“May I sit?” Kurt asks, motions to the chair across from Blaine. Blaine wants to run, to make up some excuse and bolt, but he nods instead. The chair scrapes the floor when Kurt pulls it out, but he sits quickly, hands folded in his lap. 

“You have one more chance,” Kurt says, voice firm, but Blaine thinks he can hear a slight waver at the end. “So explain.” 

Blaine’s mouth opens, closes. His whole body feels tense, nearly vibrating with the need to tic, his heart pounding an anxious rhythm in his chest. Kurt’s watching him expectantly, and Blaine tears his gaze away, stares down at the papers spread across the table. 

“Wow, um…” He starts, stops, licks his lips. His shoulder gives a tiny jump before he can grit his teeth and force it back down. “I’m really on the spot right now, aren’t I?” 

He can see Kurt shift across from him, glances up enough to see his face soften. 

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says, sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t want you to think I’m the kind of person who forces others to explain themselves. It’s only… I thought we had something, before, and maybe I was being crazy and wishful, but I’ve been getting seriously mixed signals and I just wanted to… clear the air.” 

Blaine stares, the realization that Kurt doesn’t hate him slowly sinking in. He tics, he can’t help it, the urge too strong, like an itch that grows and grows until he can’t take it anymore. His jaw snaps together, his shoulder jumps but he digs his nails into his leg, forces himself into some kind of control, even though it _aches_ , enough to make his eyes water, his teeth grind together. 

He clears his throat, coughs into his arm, tries to mask his actions. He’s gotten good at this, pretending his tics are something else, but it only lasts for a little while. He can’t keep them down forever. 

“I was embarrassed,” he admits, and it’s true, the memory of Kurt’s bewilderment in the bar bathroom makes his cheeks heat up, but it’s not the whole truth. He’s not ready for the whole truth.

“I shouldn’t have asked that. At the bar,” Kurt says, his voice sincere. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Blaine says, can’t believe that Kurt’s apologizing to _him._ “I should be the one apologizing. For leaving you like that.” 

“It was a little… abrupt,” Kurt says, a tiny smile pulling at his lip. Blaine feels a little more at ease, but his heart still pounds in his chest. He digs his nails even harder into his legs.

“I shouldn’t have run away,” Blaine admits, glancing down at his homework, the numbers scratched on the pages blurring together, meaningless.

“What are you afraid of?” Kurt asks, tilting his head as he looks at Blaine. “Cooper told me you were shy, but there’s something else, isn’t there?” 

“Cooper?”

A guilty look crosses Kurt’s face. 

“We might have talked.” 

“Of course,” Blaine mumbles, runs a hand over his face. He’s going to kill his brother. 

“Are you not ready for… whatever this could be?” Kurt asks, looking more nervous than he has the whole conversation. “It’s okay if you’re not, I’m not even sure if I am half the time. Ready for… you know. Dating. Relationships.” 

Kurt cuts off, bites his lip, an embarrassed tinge to his cheeks.

“And here I am, talking about relationships when we’ve barely met.”

“I wouldn’t say _barely_ ,” Blaine says, offers Kurt a timid smile. Kurt chuckles, shakes his head.

“This is weird, isn’t it?” 

“A little bit, yeah,” Blaine agrees. His tongue clicks and he immediately tenses, can feel Kurt watching him curiously.

“I, uh…”

_I need to tell you something._

_Something that might drive you away._

_But you should know._

The words are at the tip of his tongue, his eyes blinking too fast, fingers digging into his thigh, the urge growing unbearable under his skin.

_I’m not normal._

_I’m sorry._

“You…?” Kurt prompts. Blaine chances a glance up, and there is no judgement in Kurt’s eyes, only confusion and concern. But Blaine doesn’t know how, he doesn’t want to screw this up like everything else, doesn’t want to ruin the one good thing, that has somehow, magically, made it’s way back into his life. 

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want,” Kurt says, and Blaine wants to cry for it. 

_Don’t give me an out,_ he thinks. _Please don’t give me an out._

“I have Tourette Syndrome.” The words blurt out, before Blaine can even think about it, a giant rush that leaves Kurt looking shell shocked. There’s only silence after that and Blaine can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he needs to get out of here, his skin _burning_ with the urge to tic, electric shocks bursting through his veins.

“Shit,” he says, stands abruptly. He shoves his papers into his bags, crumples them into the bottom before grabbing his jacket, not even bothering to put it on.

“Blaine, wait…” Kurt’s voice from behind him, but he doesn’t stop, nearly trips over his own feet on his way to get out of the coffee shop. He does trip when he gets outside, the snow slicker than he thought, and his feet slipping on the slick sidewalk, falling hard onto his knees, hands scraping the concrete. 

“Are you okay?” 

Kurt beside him. Of course Kurt’s beside him. Of course Kurt has to see him still acting like a complete fool. Kurt, who’s crouching beside him as Blaine sits in the damp snow, inspecting the rip in the knee of his jeans, taking a hand in his own, his touch gentle, thumb running over the scrapes on his palm. 

“That looks like it hurts,” Kurt says, voice soft, and Blaine thinks he looks sad. 

“Why aren’t you running away?” Blaine asks, knows how pathetic he looks right now. Kurt lifts an eyebrow.

“You’re the one who does the running,” he says, and Blaine pulls his hand away. His shoulder jumps and he doesn’t stop it. It doesn’t matter anymore. Kurt’s never going to want anything to do with him after this. 

“I’m sorry, that was rude of me,” Kurt says. “Can you stand?” 

He offers Blaine a hand, which Blaine takes after only a moment of hesitation. His knee aches as he stands, his palms sting, and he feels utterly humiliated. Again. 

“Thank you,” Blaine says, looking down at the snow, crushed from where he’d fallen. “I’m sorry, I just…” His jaw does the snapping thing that makes his teeth ache, shoulder jumping and eyes blinking. “I don’t know how to do this.” 

“It’s okay,” Kurt says, reaches out like he wants to touch Blaine’s arm, but pulls away at the last second. “I don’t know what I’m doing half the time either.” 

Blaine knows Kurt’s trying to put him at ease, but instead tears prick at his eyes, his shoulders slumping. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, scrubs at his face with his hand, which only makes his palms sting more.

“I can go if you want,” Kurt says, wrapping his arms around himself, his coat only half thrown on. “But it’s not going to be because of what you said inside the shop.”

Blaine looks up at him, clenches his jaw so his teeth won’t snap again. 

“I don’t…” Kurt starts, hesitates. “I don’t know anything aboutTourette Syndrome, except for what I’ve seen in movies, but I’m not… I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not going to laugh at you, or leave just because of something like that. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, but please… give me a chance? At least let me walk you back to your place?” 

Blaine gives a small nod; he’s still locked out, but it shouldn’t be too long until Cooper gets home and he can always wait in the doorway and hope someone will let him in the building.

“It’s this way,” he says, when he realizes Kurt’s waiting for him to take the lead, motioning behind them. They walk in silence for a while, only the crunch of snow under their feet. Until Kurt starts humming, something upbeat that Blaine doesn’t recognize, but it makes him laugh anyways. 

“A rare smile emerges,” Kurt says, grinning back at Blaine. He can feel his cheeks heating up, shoves his hands into his pockets. 

“I have tics,” Blaine says, when they’ve walked another block. He doesn’t look at Kurt, stares ahead at the snow still falling, glittering flakes catching the setting sun. “I’ve had them since I was little. Most people… it weirds them out.” 

Kurt nods. “Most people, maybe.” 

And Blaine doesn’t know why, but with those three simple words, the iron rods across his chest loosen, the anxious bubbling in his stomach lessens. He laughs. He can’t explain it, but he does.

Kurt looks at him. “Did I say something funny?” 

Blaine shakes his head. “Thank you.” 

“Do you want to talk about it more?” Kurt asks. Blaine thinks about it; he knows he needs to be open with Kurt, needs to fix everything he’s managed to screw up, but… He’s not sure he’s ready. Not quite yet.

“So, you talked to Cooper?” he asks, and Kurt takes the change of subject with surprising grace, detailing the exchange he had with Cooper the night before. 

“Don’t tell him I told you,” Kurt says, slowing to a stop when Blaine motions to his apartment building.

“My lips are sealed,” Blaine promises, even though his brother is definitely not going to get off easy. 

“Well…” Kurt starts, rocks back on his heels. They’re standing close, only a few inches separating them, and Blaine’s skin starts to tingle for an entirely different reason than before.  

“Would you… want to, you know? Get together again?” Blaine fumbles over the words, feels himself blush with embarrassment. 

“That would be nice,” Kurt says with a smile. “No running away this time.”

“I promise,” Blaine says. “I won’t even wear sneakers.” 

Kurt laughs, just a little, before he stills, watching Blaine. Blaine’s shoulder jumps, and he’s about to wave Kurt goodbye, when Kurt leans in, presses a quick kiss to his cheek. 

“I’ll talk to you soon,” Kurt says, cheeks pink and Blaine doesn’t think it’s all from the cold. His brain has disconnected itself from his mouth, and he watches as Kurt takes a step back, offers Blaine a tiny wave before starting to turn and leave.

“Soon,” Blaine manages, the word cracking in the middle. He clears his throat. Kurt looks back at him and smiles, before turning and walking the way they came. 

Blaine watches him leave, until he rounds the block and disappears from view. He leans against the cold brick of the building, no longer feels the sting in his palms or his knees, only a slight tingling on his cheeks, where Kurt’s lips had been. 

He pulls out his phone.

 

**Blaine to Cooper:**

_Please get home soon. I’m going to buy you champagne and then punch you in the face._

 

**Cooper to Blaine:**

_;)_


	5. an interlude

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Hi_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Hi_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_How are you?_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_I’m good. You?_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_I’m just swell. When did we become so formal?_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_When I humiliated myself in front of you, maybe?_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**  

_Would we go so far as humiliated?_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_My scraped palms and bruised ego would say so_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_How about more like… endearingly tumbled?_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_There wouldn’t be any way I could convince you to just forget it ever happened?_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Seeing as you’re the only man who’s ever run away from me 3 times, you’re pretty memorable_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_:/_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Probably not my proudest moments_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_But, I think I understand a little better now_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Thank you, for being honest today_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_I’d be lying if I said I’d planned that and it wasn’t out of sheer terror_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Terror, huh?_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_You can be quite terrifying, you know_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_I think I’ll take that as a compliment_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_But you shouldn’t have to be scared, you know. To be honest._

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Sometimes, people aren’t always as nice as you are_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_I’m sorry._

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_It’s okay. You get used to it._

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Sorry, I didn’t mean to get all depressing._

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_It’s okay. You’re allowed to talk about your feelings :)_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_So, what did Isabelle want in her coffee today?_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Ooh, subject deflection, I see how this is._

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_And today she splurged on a nonfat mocha with peppermint. I may have gotten one for myself also._

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Very classy and festive_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_I don’t think Isabelle has ever been called festive before. I’ll have to tell her that._

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Only if it results in a private tour of the Vogue office_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_I may be able to arrange that_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_…Really?_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_If you play your cards right ;)_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A SMILEY FACE I SWEAR_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Sure ;)_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Speaking of winky faces_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_I hope you know I didn’t mean to make you feel bad that night, at the bar_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_I was just surprised, that’s all. I… had fun that night :)_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_;)_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_…Blaine?_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_I’m sorry, we don’t have to talk about it_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Sorry I was busy trying to scrub the embarrassment out of my brain_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_You don’t need to be embarrassed, I promise_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Considering I acted like a 12 year old boy coming in his pants for the first time…. I think I do_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Okay now, if you’re going there_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_I came just from kissing my first boyfriend. No touching involved. So I win_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Also it was at a high school formal. And let me tell you, a high school bathroom is probably the least romantic setting for making out. I was picking urinals cakes out of my shoes for weeks. WEEKS._

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_OKAY you win_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Also I just laughed so hard Cooper threatened to lock me in my room_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Well at least you’d have your robots for company_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_I feel that you have a very skewed perception of robotics_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_What… you mean it’s not exactly like Wall-E?_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Think less Pixar and more the worst physics and calculus classes you could imagine_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_That literally sounds like the worst thing I could possibly imagine_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_I could say the same about standing on a stage performing in front of hundreds of people_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_It’s scary, I’ll give you that. But there’s something exhilarating about it. Like a rush._

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_The rush of inevitable humiliation_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Have you never performed? I swear every little kid has at least been coerced by their parents into some sort of  ‘my kid is more talented than your kid’ spectacle_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Not when your kid has tics that make other kids cry_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking._

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_It’s okay, really_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_But, I did perform in high school._

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Oh really? Do tell_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Believe it or not, I was a member The Warblers, of my high school’s show choir. It was only for one year, and I mostly just hummed and snapped my fingers in the background. But my feet have touched a stage._

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_The Warblers? Like from Dalton?_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_…. Have you been stalking me?_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_I was in the McKinley Glee club, from Lima. I’m pretty sure we competed against each other at some point. Also I may have spied on you once._

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Okay, that’s just weird_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Seriously_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_What if we met in high school and didn’t even know it?_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_I’m pretty sure I’d remember someone like you :)_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_By that I mean someone has handsome and dashingly polite as you._

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Ughhh I’m screwing this up pretty spectacularly aren’t I?_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Well, considering you’re not the one always running away, you definitely have a few gold stars on me_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_We’re kind of unconventional, aren’t we?_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_You could say that_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_But I’m okay with it, I think_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_As long as I get to keep having these conversations with you_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_I think I’m okay with it too._

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Thank you. For being so patient._

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_;)_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Okay, now you’re intentionally using winky faces inappropriately_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_;)_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_How are your poor hands and knees, btw?_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_You mean my war wounds?_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Yes, from your epic battle with slippery concrete_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Very slippery concrete, I’ll have you know_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Of course, my mistake. Blaine vs Very Slippery Concrete_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_They’re fine, thank you. I believe I’ll make a full recovery_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_I’m glad to hear_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Just let me know the next time you feel the urge to battle the Very Slippery Concrete so I can properly prepare_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Prepare to what?_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_… Carry you to safety?_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_;)_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Okay now that’s just mean_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_;)_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_*Sigh* Goodnight Blaine_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Goodnight Kurt_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_;)_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specific warning for in this chapter for recreational drug use of the pot variety. Feel free to message me with any concerns! 
> 
> Sorry about the long wait! I hope to get the next chapter up more quickly!

“You seem happy,” Abby says, looking at Blaine from above her book. Blaine glances up from his phone, a message from Kurt still on the screen, his reply only half typed. Abby looks pointedly at his phone, Luke frowning over at them. Their physics homework is spread out across the table, and Blaine realizes how neglected his looks, barely half the problems finished in the two hours they’ve been working. 

“Are you implying he’s normally not happy?” Luke asks, shooting a pointed look at Abby. Abby shrugs.

“He’s like Eeyore,” she says, like it’s nothing more than a simple fact. “Even when he looks happy there’s a raincloud over his head.” 

Blaine opens his mouth to argue, closes it. 

His shoulder jumps. 

“But,” Abby says, when Luke looks like he’s about to come to Blaine’s defense. “I don’t see any rainclouds today.” 

She has a point, Blaine thinks. Ever since he’s been talking Kurt after their meeting in the coffee shop, it feels like the sun has been shining a little brighter, like his smiles can come easier, like he doesn’t have to trudge his reluctant way through every day. Like there’s something to look forward to. 

Luke turns to Blaine, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Well, it certainly isn’t raining on his head, I’ll give you that.”

Blaine snorts. He’d met Abby his first year of school, when all the freshman were forced to participate in orientation events, and Blaine was so worried about his tics he only succeeded in making them worse. He’d sat alone at lunch, staring at a ham sandwich he didn’t dare eat in case his shoulder decided to spasm and his sandwich went flying, or his jaw clicked mid-chewing, which never ended well. And then Abby had plopped herself down at the table across from him, with her bright blue hair and baggy flannel shirt, had grabbed the neglected cookie next to Blaine’s sandwich.

“Is this the loser table?” she’d asked, and Blaine barely had time to be offended before he’d noticed her prosthetic arm, the jagged scars on her throat, curling up her jaw, the challenging look in her eyes.

“I think it is,” he’d responded, had offered her a smile and she didn’t even blink when he ticced. 

“Good.” She’d given him a nod and a smile, and proceeded to eat half his ham sandwich, and Blaine mustered up the courage to eat the other half. They’d stayed friends ever since. 

“Well… are you going to tell us?” Abby asks, drawing Blaine’s attention back. His phone dings, another text from Kurt popping up on the screen. 

“Are you going to interrogate him every time he seems happy?” Luke asks, arching an eyebrow at her. “You never ask me what I’m happy about.” 

“Because you shoot sunshine out of your ass,” Abby says, running a hand through her short hair. Luke glares at her, and Blaine can’t help but laugh.

“It’s sort of true, you know,” Blaine agrees, causing Luke to pout. 

“Well, I’m sorry for being positive,” Luke says, frowning in the way Blaine knows means he’s not really upset. 

“You keep us from drowning in our misery,” Abby adds, patting his arm. Luke smiles again, teeth shining. It had only been a few weeks into their freshmen year when Abby had brought Luke into their duo; they’d dated for awhile before realizing they were more compatible as friends, Abby’s personality to strong and Luke too optimistic for her liking. But they’d stayed friends, and Blaine considers himself lucky to have at least two people who accept him so unconditionally. 

“Now, stop changing the subject,” Abby says to Luke, before looking at Blaine once more. “You keep smiling at your phone, and I know the only people you text are your brother and your mom, and you never smile for them.” 

“Um…” Blaine starts, feels himself blushing. He knows he’s not good at opening up and talking about himself, has spent so much of his life trying to blend into the background, unnoticed, that he’s usually content to listen to Abby and Luke’s drama, and keep his own life to himself. But there’s a part of him that wants to share, wants to gush about how amazing Kurt is, how he totally doesn’t deserve him but this gorgeous boy is actually _interested_ in him, how it doesn’t make sense that a simple text could make him feel so happy.

“Um?” Abby prompts, leaning on the table, chin resting in her hand. Even Luke looks interested in what he’s going to say, homework forgotten.

“There’s this guy,” Blaine says, and his cheeks feel like they’re burning. He stops there, stares at the table, isn’t sure how to continue. He’s not good at talking about things like this. 

“Yes?” 

“We’ve been talking?” It comes out like a question and Blaine wonders if he can just slide under the table and disappear forever. 

“Where’d you meet him?” Luke asks, probably sensing that Blaine won’t continue on his own.

“Online,” Blaine answers, chances a glance up, but there’s no judgement in their eyes. “My brother made me a profile on a stupid dating site, and I wasn’t planning on using it, but then I saw his profile and…” 

He shrugs, lays his palms flat on the table. Clicks his tongue, shoulder jumping, eyes blinking. 

“Have you guys met?” 

Blaine nods. “Twice, but I…” he trails off, presses a hand into his leg. “I keep screwing it up.” 

Abby narrows her eyes. “Well he’s still talking to you, isn’t he? And you keep wearing that obnoxious smile on your face, so you can’t be screwing up too badly.” 

Blaine gives her that, jaw snapping once, twice, three times. 

“What is it?” Abby asks, the concern on her face genuine. “I can tell something is bothering you.” 

Blaine looks between the two people who’ve been his only real friends since he moved to New York, and thinks that this is what friends are for, right? To tell them your worries, talk about relationships and ask for advice. Share your feelings. 

“I just… I think I really like him,” he drops his gaze to the table once more, does a click-grunt-blink-jump combo. “I don’t want my…” His teeth snap together, as if to demonstrate his point. “You know. To scare him off.” 

“Your tics?” Abby asks, and Blaine bites his lip. He hates talking about his tics so blatantly, has spent his life ignoring and pushing them away, trying to hide them in the background. 

“They’ve ruined everything else,” Blaine says, digs his thumb into his knee, tries to channel his energy into the action. “I just don’t want him to think I’m a freak.” 

Silence for a moment, a deep sigh from Abby.

“Look, Blaine.” He blinks up at her, sees Luke looking nervously between the two. “You can’t blame your tics for everything. Would you blame my arm for my failed relationships?”

“No?” Blaine answers, unsure of the answer she’s looking for. 

“No,” she answers firmly. “My relationships haven’t worked because I’m abrasive and loud and don’t like to adjust my schedule for anyone else.” Beside her, Luke nods, mouths _it’s true_. “But I’m a good student because I’m motived to do my work, and won’t let anyone stop me from pursuing what I want. Sure, my arm can make things a little more difficult, but I wouldn’t blame any of my failures on it.” 

His shoulder jumps, his tongue clicks, and he wishes it would stop doing that, other people in the library are starting to look at him. 

“I don’t want to sound harsh,” Abby continues, “but sometimes relationships just don’t work out. And you can’t always blame everything on your tics, or you’re never going to be happy, and you’re never going to stop worrying.” 

“You’ve already been talking,” Luke adds, and Abby sits back in her chair, sucks in a deep breath. “So you know he interested in _you_. Regardless of your TS, you know he already likes you.”

Blaine swallows back a sudden swell of emotion. “I know. I just can’t stop thinking of everything that could happen, like what if I embarrass us in public? Or if I tic and he laughs at me? Or what if we kiss and I bite his tongue off? What if…” _What if he films me and puts it on the internet for everyone to gawk at? What if he only likes me in private and is ashamed to go in public with me? What if I get my verbal tics back and call him horrible names? What if this never stops ruining my life?_

“Hey,” Abby snaps her fingers, and Blaine jumps, his attention brought back to her. “Stop that. You’re spiraling.” 

“I’m sorry,” Blaine says, suddenly feeling really pathetic. He clears his throat, tries to sit up straighter, tries to force even an ounce of confidence into himself. 

“Take it one day at a time, okay?” Luke says, reaches over to touch Blaine’s arm. “One date, one text, one conversation. That’s all you can control. Don’t let yourself get overwhelmed.” 

Blaine nods. “One day. I can do that.” 

He looks back down at the text Kurt had sent, a short message about suffering through a group project in his history class, and he thinks he can do that. He’ll take everything one at a time, try not to let himself get so caught up in his head. He can’t control his tics, he can’t change how others are going to react to them. But he wants this, he wants things to work out with Kurt, because he’s never felt this warmth in his stomach before, like a flame, growing with every text, every winky face, every silly conversation. It scares and excites him, and Abby is right, he can’t blame his TS on everything, he can’t let it hold him back, or he’ll never get anywhere. 

“Good,” Abby says, offers him a smile. “Now, we’re going to finish this homework because it’s actually due tomorrow, and then we’re going to get ice cream and you’re going to tell us about this boy who can actually make little Eeyore smile.” 

Blaine sticks his tongue out at her and Luke laughs, and Blaine returns to his homework, feeling a little more optimistic than he did before. 

-

Kurt only agreed to go to the gym to get Rachel off his back, and yet, despite the crowd of NYADA students, Rachel manages to snag the only two empty ellipticals next to each other. Kurt tries not to look at her, sticks his earbuds in and cranks up the volume on his iPod, programs the elliptical to the hardest hill climb program it has. 

They barely make it ten minutes before Kurt can see Rachel talking to him out of the corner of his eye, hands waving like they’re trying to get his attention. Kurt groans before pulling out the earbuds, wipes a drop of sweat off his temple. 

“What?” He asks, annoyed. 

“I was just wondering if you booked your tickets home for Christmas,” Rachel says, not even breaking her rhythmic glide on the elliptical. “Also, if you’ve talked to Blaine again.”

Kurt makes his groan audible this time. 

“Stop asking me that,” he says, ignoring Rachel’s pout. “It’s really none of your business.” 

“I just care about you,” Rachel says, adjusting the pink sweatband on her brow. “And your potential mate.” 

“He’s not my mate,” Kurt shoots back at her, picking up his speed. “You realize this is why I didn’t want to tell you about him in the first place.” 

“What was the thing he has again?” Rachel asks, ignoring Kurt’s words. “Tourette something?”

“Syndrome,” Kurt says, feels sweat starting to drip down his back. “And if you’re going to be bringing it up all the time, I swear to god Rachel, I will never let you meet him.” 

Rachel’s face softens, only a little, her stride faltering. “I just want to make sure you’re making a well informed decision on who you choose to date. As an aspiring Broadway star and fashion icon, you’re going to have an image to uphold.”

Kurt comes to a halt on the elliptical, staring at Rachel, can’t quite believe what he just heard.

“I’m done,” he says, steps off the machine and gathers his iPod and water bottle. “See you at home.” 

“Kurt, wait…” Rachel calls, jumping off her own machine and starting to follow him. “I didn’t mean…”

“I’m not talking anymore,” Kurt says, giving her a hard look before turning around. “Finish your workout.”

And he leaves, only Rachel’s frustrated sigh following him.

-

That evening, two days after meeting Blaine in the coffee shop, Kurt curls up in bed, boots up his computer, a mug of hot chocolate beside him. He’s resisted Google, mostly due to lack of time, but he’d turned in his paper today, and has a little extra time to enjoy tonight. He can hear Rachel in the kitchen, Santana lounging on the couch with Dani, the TV a low murmur through his bedroom curtains, and he knows he’s being childish, but ever since his outburst with Rachel earlier in the day, he’s been avoiding his roommates. 

It doesn’t really make sense, he barely even knows Blaine, but he feels a strange urge to protect him, to keep him away from prying questions and nosy divas who don’t know better than to keep their mouths shut. They’d texted a few times over the past two days, silly conversations and lighthearted jokes, and Blaine had refrained from mentioning his tics in more than just passing, and Kurt hadn’t wanted to bring up a subject he was still unsure about. 

So. Google. 

Kurt stares at the screen, realizes he doesn’t even know how to spell this thing that Blaine has, and he uses to many R’s and T’s and S’s, but eventually Google tells him what’s right. 

_Tourette Syndrome._

The words bring up 858,000 hits, and Kurt feels a bit overwhelmed. He’s curious, he wants to know more, but he can’t help but feel like he’s invading Blaine’s privacy, going behind his back and reading into something Blaine’s tried so hard to hide. But he wants to be prepared, doesn’t want to say something to offend him, doesn’t want to be one of the people that’s made Blaine so hesitant and insecure. 

He figures Wikipedia is a good place to start, and he opens the link, starts reading, hot chocolate clutched in his hand. The article is dense with big words and terms he’s never heard before, and it doesn’t take long for his brain to start spinning with all the information. Most of everything he’s known about the disorder, which is limited to comic relief characters in movies he’d never really found funny, is proven to be wrong or exaggerated. 

Verbal tics, he learns, the kind so often made fun of in movies, are rare, and only make up a small portion of Tourette Syndrome sufferers. TS is most common in children, and is usually outgrown after the age of eighteen, but can sometimes persist into adulthood. No two people with TS share the same symptoms, and severity can vary widely from person to person. The article delves into treatments and medications, and Kurt can’t help but wonder what Blaine’s tried, if he’s on medication, if he goes to therapy. He wonders what it would be like to have this be your reality, every day, one after another. 

Kurt clicks through to a few other websites, but the information is so broad, everything so subjective, and he doesn’t know how to narrow it down, how to make it apply to Blaine without really _knowing_ Blaine. Most information sheets he finds are geared towards parents, and he’s starting to feel a little uncomfortable, like he’s digging through something he shouldn’t, overstepping private boundaries. 

He closes the website, takes a long drink of his hot chocolate, now only lukewarm, lays back against his pillow. He needs to talk to Blaine, that much is clear, needs to figure out where this is going and where he wants it to go. And he can’t help it, but Rachel’s words ring in the back of his mind, an unwelcome whisper that won’t leave him alone. His career should have no influence over who he dates, but he can’t deny that it does, that the life he wants will always be under scrutiny, and it would be so easy to just find a well meaning, good looking, average Joe to date, someone who would look good on his arm, who he could dress in the latest styles, who would flash his pearly whites at the camera on command. 

He flops onto the bed with a groan, ashamed for even thinking that. Why couldn’t he do all of those things with Blaine? Why couldn’t he dress him up and take him home and _who_ _cares_ what anyone else thinks, he’s gone through so much of his life always worrying about what others think, always on guard and he knows it doesn’t matter, he shouldn’t let anyone else dictate his life. 

And okay. Maybe he’s getting a little ahead of himself. They’ve only even met twice, and while one of those was certainly rather… intimate, both meetings were brief. He’s not even sure if this will work out at all, if Blaine even wants to date him, if they’re even compatible in the ways that really matter. And here he is, practically planning his whole future with Blaine and acting like a complete idiot.

The beep of his phone draws him from his spiral of misery and he rolls over on his bed, fumbles to grab it. 

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_I’m pretty sure the only bird that forgot to migrate this winter just pooped on me_  

 

And Kurt laughs, deep and real, pushes his worries out of his mind, and tells himself to just focus on the moment. On now. Because now is making him smile. 

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_It probably decided you were looking too good today. Just keeping you in check._

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Impossible. I’m wearing Old Navy sales rack clothing._

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Well then I agree with the bird_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Good thing I had a backup scarf in my bag_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_It’s always wise to carry a backup scarf. There is hope for you yet_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Thank you, Mr. Vogue._

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_;)_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_But seriously, Old Navy?_

 

-

He’s through the door when Cooper bounces over to him, a wide smile on his face. Blaine takes a step back, eyes him suspiciously. 

“What did you do?” Blaine asks, setting his bag down by the door and slipping off his shoes. 

“Something you’ll be thanking me for,” Cooper says, still looking immensely proud of himself. His hands are behind his back, and Blaine has a good idea of what he’s hiding. 

“Cooper…” Blaine says, only partly reprimanding. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.” 

“Most young hoodlums would be thanking their older brothers for supplying them with good ol’ MJ,” Cooper says, bringing his hands in front of him, a small bag clutched in his palm, a pout on his lips.

“Seriously, you need to stop with the slang,” Blaine says, but he grabs the bag out of Cooper’s hand. “Also don’t call me a hoodlum. It’s offensive.”

“Man, you’re killing me today,” Cooper says, follows Blaine into the living room. Blaine turns to look at him, and Cooper raises his hands. “Look, I know your tics have been getting worse lately. I just wanted to help.”

Blaine looks down at the small bag of green buds in his hands. He knows it’s wrong, he feels guilty every time he does it, but he can’t deny that it helps, has been proven to help. In fact, it was only a few years ago when medical marijuana was denied as a treatment for Tourette’s, despite the numerous evidence in support of it. And his tics have been getting worse lately, and he hates to blame it on Kurt, but the anxiety and nerves he feels whenever he thinks about Kurt, about meeting and being with him, is causing his body to rebel against him. 

“What would mom say,” Blaine says, a smile on his lips. “If she knew my trusty big brother was buying me weed?”

“She’d probably murder me,” Cooper says, and Blaine laughs, mostly because it’s true. 

“Thank you,” Blaine says, and he means it. He knows the risk Cooper takes getting this for him, and while it’s not that difficult to find pot in this city, he’s still putting himself in jeopardy. “You know, I am the college student. Shouldn’t I be the one with the supplier?” 

“Psh,” Cooper waves him off. “With your adorable face? All you’d get would be lollipops.” 

Blaine sticks out his tongue, grabs a soda from the fridge before making his way to his room. 

“Wait,” Cooper calls, chasing after him. “You’re sharing that with me.”

Blaine raises an eyebrow. “Where are your tics?” 

“Hey, I have to put up with you,” Cooper says with a grin. Blaine just shakes his head, but lets Cooper follow him into the room. They’ve done this before, know how to crack the window, pull up a stool and a chair as Blaine pulls out his pipe from a small box in his closet, a pretty glass piece Cooper had given him for his birthday a few years ago, when they first started smoking together, and realized how much of an effect it had on Blaine. 

He packs the pipe, and Cooper realizes they need a lighter, returns with another soda and mini muffins, and Blaine laughs, shoves his brother lightly with his shoulder. But he feels happy, sitting here with his brother, in the slight chill of the New York winter blowing in through the window. It takes barely two puffs for the relief to be instant, the sudden stillness nearly taking him off guard. His jaw relaxes, his eyes feel smooth, his shoulder sore but calm, arm hanging loose by his side, any urge to hit or tic or grunt or snap gone. 

Peaceful. It’s the only word he can think to describe the bliss he feels. Eyelids flutter shut, and lets himself lean against Cooper, accepting the pipe when he passes it back. He doesn’t need much, doesn’t feel the desire to overdo it, just enough to let the silence fill him more than any jerking movement could. 

It’s nice. 

“I’m glad you think so,” Cooper says, and Blaine blinks his eyes open before he realizes he said that out loud. Cooper already has a pack of mini muffins open, offers Blaine one and he accepts, and they taste fake and sugary but also like so much more, and he lets out a content sigh, lets Cooper rest a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Blaine says again, and they both know it’s about more than the mini muffin. 

“Anything for you, little bro,” Cooper says, ruffling Blaine’s hair, and Blaine can’t even bring himself to be mad. Sometimes, things just are good. 

-

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_So… did you still want to meet again sometime?_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Obviously, only what you’re comfortable with, I don’t want to push you into anything_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_But I’d really like to see you again. If you want._

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_What did you have in mind?_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_I hadn’t planned that far actually_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_You only planned to the asking part?_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Sadly, yes_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Hmmm… what do normal college students do for fun?_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Get drunk?_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Ugh, don’t even mention alcohol to me. Never again_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Noted. Something non-alcohol related_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_I still need to get Cooper a Christmas present_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Tomorrow is Saturday so maybe you could help me find something?_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Sorry, that’s probably a stupid idea_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Do you know who you’re talking to? You may not know this, but I am a shopping expert_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Meaning, I’d love to help you shop for your brother_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Awesome :)_

 

_-_

They meet shortly after one on Saturday afternoon. Kurt gets there first, and it’s surprisingly nice out for December, so he stands outside the store and waits. They’d decided on Macy’s, had figured it was a good place to start, with a wide enough variety of stuff, and while it’s a bit unconventional for a first real date-type-thing, Kurt’s willing to do anything that makes Blaine comfortable. And he’s willing to bet Blaine wanted to meet here so they have something to do, something to focus on other than him, and that’s okay. 

Blaine shows up ten minutes late, just as Kurt’s checking his phone for any messages, slightly out of breath, cheeks flushed. 

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Blaine apologizes, hesitating a few feet away from Kurt, and Kurt feels guilt at the thought that he’s glad Blaine even showed up at all. “Cooper was…” He trails off with a wave of his hand, cheeks turning even more pink, and Kurt gives him a smile to let him know it’s okay, he’s not mad. 

“Don’t worry, I was a little late too,” Kurt says, even though they both know it’s not true. Blaine looks really nice today, Kurt notes, dark jeans neatly pressed, a dark green coat buttoned up to his collar, and his hair looks like he gelled it, washed the gel out, applied it again, probably hoping to tame it into a nice wave, but a few curls have broken free, and Kurt bites his lip before he says anything embarrassing. Like _you look cute_ or _hey, how about skipping the store and reenacting that night in the bar bathroom?_

“Should we go in?” Blaine asks, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, and he seems nervous, eyes looking at Kurt and then away, never lingering for long. Kurt nods, is surprised when Blaine opens the door for him, a shy smile on his lips as he follows Kurt into the store. Macy’s is _huge_ , and Blaine’s eyes are wide as he takes it in, lips parting, and Kurt forces any indecent thoughts from his mind.

“Have you never been here before?” Kurt asks, surprised. 

Blaine shakes his head. “I’m not much of a shopper.” 

Kurt pats his shoulder, feels Blaine tense just a little before he pulls away. “Well, good thing you found me then. You have so much to learn.” 

Blaine laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. He seems more relaxed than the afternoon at the coffee shop, but there’s still tension in the line of his body, the set of his shoulder. Kurt can see a shoulder pop up, and he makes a noise that sounds like a swallowed grunt, his jaw clenching for just a moment. But he doesn’t stare, doesn’t want to make Blaine feel uncomfortable when he can only imagine how much courage it took for Blaine to be here today. 

“Good thing,” Blaine echoes, his hands back in his pockets. Blaine’s not going to take the lead, that much is obvious, but Kurt doesn’t mind, he’s always been good at leading, and if that’s what it takes, at least for now, he’s okay with that. 

“What did you have in mind?” Kurt asks, chuckles when Blaine keeps up his wide-eyed stare of everything around them. The store is elaborately decorated for Christmas, displays and trees and fake snow everywhere, colored lights glowing above their heads. 

“Um… I’ve always gotten him gloves for Christmas, and I think he’s getting sick of those, so I was going to try to… branch out,” Blaine says, looking around uncertainly. He blinks, a blink that seems to use every muscle in his face, his jaw snapping shut with a painful sounding noise. 

“Okay, no gloves then,” Kurt says, offers Blaine a smile. Blaine gives him something that resembles a smile, before looking back around the store. “What do meddling older brothers like?”

“Torturing younger siblings?” Blaine says, a case of watches catching his eyes. 

“Want to look?” Kurt asks and Blaine nods. They make their way over to the watches, and Kurt loves the way Blaine’s face lights up as he examines them, the tense line in his shoulder relaxing just an inch. 

“I built a watch once,” Blaine says, the words sudden. He glances up at Kurt, a blush on his cheeks. “Now you probably think I’m a huge nerd.”

“I already knew you were a huge nerd,” Kurt says, steps in closer to Blaine, pretends to accidentally brush against him, is pleased when Blaine doesn’t pull away this time. “But a very cute nerd.” He says it hesitantly, almost a test, as if to see how Blaine reacts to a little light flirting. Blaine looks up, a little surprised, but he doesn’t look upset, just blushes even more, gives his head a little shake. 

“Well, I’ve got one thing going for me then,” Blaine says, his words sounding cautious, and Kurt wants to break down the awkward wall between them, but he knows he can’t, that these things take time, and already small pieces of Blaine are starting to shine through fallen bricks in the wall. If he’s patient, maybe they can crumble it to the ground. 

“So when was this watch building venture?” Kurt asks, pointing at one with a price tag he couldn’t even dream of affording. Blaine considers it appreciatively. 

“In high school,” he answers, touching a hand to the warm glass of the display case. “It never told the time right though.” 

“Still very impressive,” Kurt says, wonders what Blaine would do if he took his hand in his own. He curls his fingers into his palm to stop himself. “I was never good with anything like that. I could put together a mean outfit though.” 

“Better than Old Navy?” Blaine asks, a smile on his face.

“Definitely better than Old Navy,” Kurt answers, nudges his shoulder against Blaine’s. They travel away from the watches, and it’s _busy_ in here, Kurt notes, supposed he shouldn’t be surprised when it’s so close to Christmas. Someone knocks into the Blaine, pushing him back against Kurt, Kurt’s hands reaching out to steady him. 

“Sorry,” Blaine apologizes, doesn’t pull away from Kurt’s hands. Kurt can feel the jump in his shoulder, a muscle in his arm flexing and releasing. 

“Not your fault,” Kurt says, lets his hands fall back by his sides. He can see a nervous look cross Blaine’s face as he eyes the crowd around them. “Let’s go this way.” 

Somehow they make it through the crowd, up an escalator and Kurt fake runs into an empty aisle, arms up like he’s crossed a finish line, Blaine laughing behind him. 

“Whew,” Kurt says, looks around and notes they’re in the housewares section. “Okay. How about a plate? Does Cooper like plates?”

He motions to a set of bright red dinner plates, and Blaine approaches them, pretends to consider them carefully. 

“He’s more of a Candy Apple Red guy than a Fire Engine Red guy.” 

“Ah, totally understandable,” Kurt says with a nod. “And what are you?”

“Me?” Blaine points to himself, as they continue down the aisle, weaving around people as they go. “I’m more of a stick-it-in-the-microwave-and-go kind of guy.”

Kurt shakes his head, a _tsk_ on his tongue.

“Oh Blaine, you have so much to learn. Hot Pockets taste so much better on fine china.” 

Blaine’s eyebrows raise. “Oh, do they?” 

Kurt gives a serious nod, as Blaine blinks again, makes a sound like he’s clicking his tongue, looking away as he does. Kurt wants to say something, wants to tell him not to be embarrassed, wants to ask him questions, wants to offer reassurances, but he knows it’s not his place. Not now. Not yet. 

“They um,” Blaine starts, bites his lip, eyes on the floor. His shoulder jumps. “They get worse. When I’m nervous.” 

Kurt’s surprised, hadn’t expected Blaine to address it, but he’s glad, can only guess how nerve wracking this must be for Blaine.

“Are you nervous now?” Kurt asks, eyes meeting Blaine’s only for a moment. Blaine nods, opens his mouth like he wants to say something before closing it.

“Well,” Kurt says, nudges Blaine’s shoulder again. “We’ll just have to fix that.” 

Blaine nudges back against him, and it’s not much, but it’s something, and Kurt’s willing to take it. They’ve ended up in the bedding section, and Blaine frowns as he looks around.

“How long do you think someone could live in here for?” 

Kurt laughs. “Why, are you looking for a change of address?” 

“This place has everything,” Blaine says. “How am I even going to narrow this down?” 

“Well, you could always get him a pair of gloves,” Kurt says, and this time Blaine laughs. They dart around a few people, more tension beginning to ease away. They explore a few floors, both laughing when they find a section filled with hats and scarves, and Kurt has fun making Blaine try on every hat and scarf combo, not really surprised to find he looks dashing in all of them. Blaine blushes when he tells him such, but he lets Kurt talk him into buying a nice scarf on triple sale, Kurt picking up a few things for himself as well. 

Blaine doesn’t talk much, but Kurt can sense something just under the surface, words that start to well up before he catches himself, always looking over at Kurt as if he’s unsure before commenting on something, or responding to one of Kurt’s stories. Kurt finds himself rambling about school, about Rachel and Vogue, and Blaine listens with rapt attention whenever he talks about Isabelle. He wishes there was a way he could put Blaine at ease, something he could say or do that would let him open up, that would help him put his guard down and just let him be _himself_. 

Be patient, he tells himself. 

They’re making their way back through the housing section, when Blaine sidesteps a crowd, his jaw snapping and arm jerking up to hit himself in the chest, knocking over a lamp as he does. Kurt’s hand shoots out, his body reacting on a reflex, catching the lamp before it can completely fall off the stand. The group that had passed them looks back, curious looks on their faces, a few giggles in the air before moving on and Blaine looks absolutely mortified, arm still clutched to his chest, his jaw tight. 

Kurt rights the lamp, settles it back in place, watches as Blaine closes his eyes for a moment, before he shakes his head, shoves his hands back in his pockets. 

“Good reflexes,” Blaine says, his voice small and Kurt can tell he’s trying so hard not to break down. 

“I’ve always been told one of my ancestors was probably a cat,” Kurt says, watches Blaine for a clue of what he should do. What Blaine needs.

“Maybe I’ll keep you around then,” Blaine says, a wavering confidence in his voice. “I mean, you just saved me from having to buy a two hundred dollar lamp.”

And Kurt laughs, feels the tension snap, and Blaine actually giggles beside him, his face red but the embarrassment fading into something else. Something a little more at ease. 

They do end up buying Cooper gloves, but Kurt makes sure to pick out a very nice pair of soft leather gloves that are surprisingly warm and very stylish. After paying, they start to make their way out of the store, and if Kurt had thought it was busy before, it’s nothing compared to what it is now. People are packed in the aisles, a swarm that swallows them up, and Kurt can barely move without being bumped or shoved or pushed. He glances behind him, sees Blaine struggling to keep up, and without thinking Kurt grabs his hand, wraps their fingers together so they won’t get separated.

Blaine’s hands is warm, and he clutches Kurt tightly, lets Kurt lead them through the crowd. They get knocked apart once, but Blaine finds Kurt’s hand again, and soon they make it to the front, through the door and it feels like they can breathe again. Someone nearly runs them over on the sidewalk, and Kurt quickly tugs Blaine to the side, until they’re pressed up against the cold building, Blaine looking a little shell shocked.

“You okay?” Kurt asks, is happy that Blaine hasn’t pulled his hand out of Kurt’s yet. 

“I’m fine,” Blaine answers, glances down at their hands, corners of his lips twitching. “I’m good.” 

“Great,” Kurt says, lets out a long breath. “Me too.” 

-

They end up in a coffee shop a few blocks away, small and surprisingly empty. They hold hands the whole way, and Blaine has to bite his lip to keep his shoulder from jumping, to keep his arm from jerking up and away. But it feels nice, and despite the chill in the air, Kurt’s hand is warm in his. They break away when Kurt reaches to open the door for Blaine, motions for him to enter, an _after you_ on his lips. 

Blaine ducks into the cafe, Kurt following, feels himself relaxing in the warmth. It’s calm in here, students with computers and homework spread out over the table, a few quiet conversations filling the air. 

“I’ll pay,” Blaine offers, feels a little more confident now that they’re out of the hectic atmosphere of Macy’s. Kurt looks like he’s going to protest but doesn’t.

“I’ll grab us a seat,” he says. Blaine orders them two mochas; he’s not really a fan of the sweeter drinks, and he knows it’s silly, but he wants to taste what Kurt tastes, wants every ounce of confidence he can get. Because he embarrassed himself in the store, he knows he did. He couldn’t control his tics, but Kurt hadn’t seemed to mind, hadn’t laughed at him or shied away from him. He’d smiled, had held his hand and bumped his shoulder and joked with him. 

It had been fun. Despite the crowds, and almost terrible incident with the lamp. It had been fun.

Blaine gets the coffees from the barista, turns back around and sees Kurt has settled himself on the couch pressed up against the brick wall. Swallowing back his nerves, Blaine makes his way over, carefully sits down beside Kurt. Not close enough to touch, but only a few inches separating their legs. 

“Thank you,” Kurt says, when Blaine hands him the drink. He moans appreciatively when he takes a sip, and Blaine has to admit it does taste pretty good, rich and not too sweet. 

“Do you think Cooper will like his new gloves?” Kurt asks, settles back against the couch. His knee knocks into Blaine’s when he talks, and Blaine wants to lean against him, wants to feel the heat of Kurt’s body warming his own. But he doesn’t, he sits perfectly still, one hand pressed to his knee, trying his hardest to keep down his tics. It gets more difficult the longer he goes, the urge building and building, like an itch that demands to be scratched, something he can’t pretend to ignore. He lets out a few small ones, a tongue click, a few rapid blinks, digs his nails into his legs. 

“I hope so,” he answers, chances a glance over at Kurt, who’s looking at him curiously. “He always gives me the ones he doesn’t like, so it’s a win-win either way.”  

Kurt chuckles, sips his coffee.

“How’s school going?” 

Blaine blinks, clicks his tongue, hopes no one starts looking at them. 

“It’s been busy,” Blaine admits. “But good.” 

“Any robot apocalypses?” Kurt asks. “Do I need to worry about sentient beings taking over New York?” 

A laugh bursts out of Blaine, and this time people do look over at them, but for reasons Blaine doesn’t mind.

“None yet,” Blaine says when he stops laughing. “But I’ll keep you informed.”

“Darn,” Kurt says with a pout. “I was hoping for something exciting.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Blaine says. Blinks. “But my friend Luke did just make a robot who can clean the bathtub. So there’s that.” 

“Very useful,” Kurt says with a nod. “What about you? Have you built any robots?”

Blaine can feel himself starting to blush; he normally doesn’t talk about this kind of stuff with people, doesn’t want to seem any more weird or outcast-like than he already does. But, Kurt seems genuinely interested, and if Blaine’s really interested in pursuing anything with him, there’s no point in hiding it. 

“I mean, I’ve helped out with some upperclassmen projects, but they don’t let sophomores conduct their own,” Blaine says, sets his coffee down on the table in front of the couch so he doesn’t spill it. His shoulder jumps. “I used to build them for fun in high school, but they never really did anything more than walk or fall over.” 

“That’s still amazing though,” Kurt says, actually sounds impressed. “All I can do is make noises with my voice and stick a needle through fabric.” 

“That takes talent too,” Blaine says, looking up at Kurt. Kurt smiles at him, knock his knee against Blaine’s, and this time Blaine thinks he meant it. 

“So what made a young Blaine Anderson so interested in robots?” Kurt asks, and Blaine knows he’s just trying to make conversation, he’s not trying to pry, but a knot still form in his stomach. Honesty, he tells himself. He can’t run away all the time.

“I liked creating things. And robots didn’t make fun of me,” he says with a shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Of my tics.” 

Kurt’s silent for a moment, but Blaine can’t bring himself to look. 

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says, touches a cautious hand to Blaine’s arm. “I feel like I’m always asking all the wrong questions.” 

Blaine lets himself glance at Kurt. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Blaine says before his jaw snaps together twice. “I… I don’t mind you asking things. My…”

Oh god, is he really going to bring this up on their first date together? But Kurt’s watching him with kind eyes, and Blaine knows he can’t stop now. He needs to get this out. 

“My therapist tells me I need get better at talking about these things.” There is no judgement in Kurt’s eyes, his hand squeezing Blaine’s forearm. “And here I am talking about therapy on our first date. Way to go, Blaine.” 

“We’re great at this, aren’t we?” Kurt says, and they both chuckle. He can feel Kurt hesitate beside him, before reaching forward, once again taking Blaine’s hand in his own.

“I’ve had fun today,” Kurt says, and Blaine’s cheeks grow warm, his eyes on their threaded fingers. “And I’d like to see you again. But I want to make sure you’re comfortable, and I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing, so I want to know that you can tell me what you need. Because… I know this is harder for you, but I can’t do it one-sided, okay?”

Blaine swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. He nods. 

“If there’s something I’m not doing, or something you want me to stop doing, do you think you can tell me?” 

Blaine tears his eyes away from their hands, looks up at Kurt. 

“Yeah,” he answers, and the word cracks in the middle. He clears his throat. “I want to try.” 

Kurt smiles, and Blaine can’t get over how much he shines when he’s happy. 

“Good,” Kurt says, gives his fingers a squeeze. Blaine feels like he’s vibrating, both from the urge to tic and the nervous excitement growing inside him. 

Try. Kurt wants to try. 

He’s thinks he’s ready to stop running. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for mentions of pot use, underage drinking, and sexual content
> 
> Sorry for the wait! I hope to have the next chapter up much more quickly! This chapter has not been betaed so any mistakes are entirely mine! Thanks for reading :)

  **Blaine to Kurt:**

_So, I’m sure you have plans this Friday_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_And I totally understand if you don’t want to_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_What is it?_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_My friends are having a party, and I was wondering if you wanted to come?_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_You definitely don’t have to though_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_I know I don’t have to, silly. But I’d like that_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Really?_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_It sounds fun!_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Unless your friends enjoy dousing people with slushies, then I’m sure I’ll like them_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Slushies??_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Don’t ask. Long story._

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_I can guarantee no slushies will be involved_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Then count me in_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Great :)_

-

“Stop stressing,” Rachel says, when Kurt emerges in his sixth possible outfit. “Blaine doesn’t care what you wear.” 

“But it’s not just Blaine,” Kurt says, fully aware how whiny he sounds. “It’s his friends too.” 

“Aren’t they engineers?” Rachel asks, lifting her eyebrows. “I doubt they care what you wear.”

“It’s always nice to make a good first impression,” Kurt says, smoothing down his shirt. He’s decided on simple but classy, with a button down and a vest, skinny jeans and boots. Nothing too out there, but still good enough for a first meeting. “Now, do I go with the neckerchief or not?” 

“How gay do want to look?” Santana asks, gliding into the room and collapsing onto the couch. Kurt glares at her, wraps the silky fabric around his hand. 

“I just want them to like me,” Kurt says with a pout. 

“You sound like a five year old,” Santana says, starts rubbing lotion into her feet. “Wear your hideous hickey hider, and run along to your little party. And you better not come home without dick breath.” 

“Santana!” Rachel hisses, but Kurt just shakes his head, disappears back into his room. He ties the neckerchief around his neck, nods at himself in the mirror, before putting on his coat. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous; in the week since their meeting at Macy’s they’ve met up twice, once at _Jive_ to study together, and once for a walk through Central Park. It’s been nice, and Blaine’s actually shown up to all of them, but he always seems tense, like he’s holding back, his words a little forced, his back so straight he looks like the wrong movement might make him snap. 

But this is different; this is a party, in an apartment, and Kurt imagines alcohol will probably be involved. This is a chance to see Blaine around his friends, to see him in his own environment, relaxed and comfortable. Or at least, that’s what Kurt’s hoping for. If only he could get rid of the butterflies in his belly, the nervous tingle under his own skin. The secret desire for _something_ yearning inside him, the memory of Blaine’s lips on his own. 

He shakes his head, tries to focus his thoughts. He’s going to go at whatever pace Blaine needs, he’s not going to push, the last thing he wants is to make Blaine more uncomfortable. He can be patient and wait and… start taking longer showers in the morning. 

Okay. Time to go. He buttons up his jacket, slips on a pair of gloves before saying goodbye to his roommates and leaving before Santana has time to come up with another lewd comment. 

Blaine had given him directions in a text message, and Kurt takes the subway a few stops, only gets turned around once, before he locates the building, a short distance away from Columbia. He’s just about to text Blaine to let him know he’s here, when the front door opens, a familiar head of curly hair poking out. 

“Hi!” Blaine greets, lips curling into a wide smile. “Come in!” 

Kurt follows Blaine inside the door, both of them pausing once they’re inside before Kurt reaches forward to give Blaine a short hug. 

“It’s nice to see you,” Kurt says, and Blaine blushes, but he doesn’t pull away.

“I’m glad you could come,” Blaine says, before tentatively taking Kurt’s hand in his own, leading him up the stairs. He seems more relaxed today, Kurt notes, something about the line of his shoulders, the looseness to his grip, the almost lazy smile on his face. Something is… different, and Kurt’s not quite sure what, but he’s not going to complain. 

Blaine leads him up to the third floor, to an apartment with the door propped slightly open. Kurt can hear music inside, not too loud, but enough to filter out into the hallway, the sound of laughter muffled through the wall. 

“This is Abby’s apartment,” Blaine explains, leading him inside, their hands disconnecting when a tall girl with dip dyed purple hair approaches. 

“And this is Abby,” Blaine says, nodding towards the girl. “Abby, this is Kurt.” 

“Nice to finally meet you,” Abby says, extending her left hand to Kurt. He’s confused for a moment by the odd gesture, before noticing Abby’s right arm is a prosthetic. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”

Blaine blushes but doesn’t try to refute it, and Kurt smiles, accepts Abby’s hand.

“Only good things, I hope,” Kurt says, looking over a Blaine.

“Oh, only the best, I assure you,” Abby says, amusement in her voice. Blaine’s blush turns an even darker red. 

“Why don’t you get Kurt here a drink, and meet us in the living room, little Eeyore?” Abby winks at Blaine before turning around and heading back through the small apartment. 

“Eeyore?” Kurt questions, looking at Blaine. Blaine shakes his head, looks thoroughly embarrassed.

“Ignore her,” he says, before heading into the kitchen. There’s an array of drinks on spread across the counter, a few cases of beer and ciders, some juices and hard liquors for making mixed drinks. Two other people are digging through the fridge, but Blaine doesn’t introduce them, and they only give him a short look when they enter. 

“What are you having?” Kurt asks, and Blaine shoves his hands in his pockets, rocks back on his heels. 

“Alcohol and I don’t…” He pauses. “We don’t always mix well.” 

“Oh,” Kurt says, hesitates, wonders if he should be drinking anything then either. 

“But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t… if you want something…” Blaine trails off, head hanging as he stumbles over his words. Kurt can’t help but laugh, Blaine’s awkwardness endearing.

“Thank you,” Kurt says, plucking a cider out of the box. Blaine grabs a soda, looks back up at Kurt, blinks like its taking his eyes a while to focus, and there’s something… different about him tonight. Something Kurt can’t put his finger on. 

“Um… should we?” Blaine asks, looking towards the living room, where Kurt can hear chatter and laughter. Kurt almost wants to say no, that he wants to stay here with Blaine, just Blaine, but now is not the time. Kurt knows that, but it doesn’t stop the yearning inside of him.

He follows Blaine into the living room. There’s a small crowd of people, a couple playing video games, a group gathered around the coffee table, a few on the couch. It’s not crazy, not like a few of the house parties Santana has dragged him too, and it has a very different atmosphere than NYADA or Vogue parties. For one, there’s a lot more flannel and dreadlocks. A poster of the periodic table is tacked to the wall, next to a clock with the gears exposed, the numbers on the face consisting of complex looking equations and Kurt thinks it’s supposed to be funny but he doesn’t get it. For the first time in his life, he wishes Brittany was here to explain things to him. He thinks she’d fit in here just fine. 

Abby sees them from where she’s seated cross legged on the ground, motions them over. They sink to the ground beside her, Kurt purposefully crossing his legs so his knee bumps into Blaine’s. An Asian boy plops down beside her, a tall pink drink in one hand, a beer in the other. 

Abby takes the beer. 

“Luke, this is Kurt,” she says, looking at Luke seriously.

“Oh!” Luke exclaims, reaches a hand out for Kurt’s. It’s cold from holding the drinks. “So happy to meet you.” 

Kurt’s about to respond when he hears a whistling coming from the couch they’re sitting beside.

“Don’t tell me Blaine has a boyfriend.” 

“What? Blaine has a boytoy?” 

“Shut up, Tanya,” Abby says, throws an empty can at the girl on the couch. Kurt looks over at Blaine, his cheeks flushed bright red. Kurt can feel his own heart pick up its pace, just slightly. They haven’t talked about it, only a few short dates under their belts, a phone full of light-hearted texts, all serious conversations filed away in an invisible folder marked _for later_. 

“I’m just excited for him,” Tanya says with a pout, crossing her arms over her chests. Blaine has his hands in his lap, his grip tight around his Dr. Pepper, but Kurt nudges against his shoulder, knocks their knees together a little more forcefully. He wants to take Blaine’s hand, but he doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable either. He has the feeling this is just how Blaine is, he has Abby and Luke, a pair of friends he feels comfortable around, and everyone else is a risk. A possibility for ridicule or embarrassment.

Blaine’s used to hiding in the background, Kurt’s beginning to understand. The guarded slump of his shoulders when others address him, the squint of his eyes and pink flush of his cheeks. He’s not used to being the center of attention, to being the person everyone focuses on. He’s worked hard at making sure he’s _not_ , and it’s something Kurt doesn’t completely understand when he’s spent his life trying to stand out, to stand tall and shine despite what people may think of him. But he’s trying, they both are, and Kurt supposes that’s what matters most. 

A few more people trickle into the apartment, and soon there’s probably a dozen or more people lounging around, in various states of inebriation. Blaine hasn’t said much beside him, but he’s slowly inched closer, until their thighs are nearly pressed together, arms touching, and Kurt has to bite back a smile. He’s content to sit and people watch, to feel the warmth of Blaine’s body, to sip slowly on his cider. 

Until Abby gets up and disappears into the kitchen, returning with a tray piled high in one hand, and a box in the other. 

“Jello shots!” she announces, throwing the box onto the floor in the middle of the small crowd. It’s _Cards Against Humanity_ , Kurt notices, words of excitement already going around the room. There are too many people for everyone to play, so they decide to divide into teams, and nobody argues when Kurt and Blaine form their own two-person team. Abby places a small pile of jello shots in front of them, despite Blaine’s protests. 

The game goes about as well as can be expected, with a lot of laughter and cards so dirty Kurt finds himself blushing. Even Blaine loosens up a bit, leaning in close to Kurt to glance at their cards, taking at least three jello shots when they place the winning card. Kurt’s starting to feel warm, and he’s not sure if it’s from the number of people in such a small apartment, the jello shots, or Blaine pressed up against him, but he loosens the top buttons on his shirt and lets himself press back against Blaine. He catches a few of the other people at the party watching him, watching Blaine, with curious expressions, like they’re surprised to see him here, or maybe surprised to see him here _with_ someone, but Kurt just levels their gaze back, sits even taller, leans even more firmly into Blaine. 

Blaine, who’s cheeks are starting to look a little flushed, who’s speech is starting to trip over itself after the second jello shot, his laughter becoming louder and fuller, his shoulders even more relaxed. Kurt can’t deny that he’s starting to feel the effects a little himself, the world tilting around him when the game ends and he stands, shuffling into the kitchen to grab a water for both Blaine and himself. He remembers Blaine telling him he doesn’t like to drink, and the last thing Kurt wants is for Blaine to have a hangover and regret inviting him to this party. 

“You look really good tonight,” Blaine says when Kurt sits back beside him in the living room, pressing the water into his hand. 

“Drink this,” Kurt says, and Blaine does as he’s told, sighing happily when he’s finished half the glass. “And thank you.” 

“But you always look good,” Blaine says, stares down at the water. “Always so immic… immaculate.” 

Kurt chuckles. “I could say the same about you too.” He nudges against Blaine, who stares back at him, blinking slowly.

“Really?” 

Kurt laughs again. “Really.” 

“Hey, Blaine!”

The shout comes from across the room, and Blaine turns his head, sees Abby waving over at him. “Did you bring the brownies I asked you too?” 

Blaine immediately turns bright red, eyes flickering to Kurt nervously. Kurt frowns, can see a look of realization cross Abby’s face.

“Oh shit,” she says, looking at Kurt. “Kurt, forget I said that. But Blaine… did you?” 

“Brownies?” Kurt asks, glancing between Blaine and Abby, feeling like he’s missing something. 

“Um…” Blaine’s tongue darts out to lick his lips, and Kurt has a hard time tearing his gaze away. “I was going to tell you, I just… I made brownies. Like… special brownies.” 

Kurt blinks. “Like with nuts?” 

Blaine stares at him for a minute, eyes almost vacant before he completely looses it, laughing so hard Kurt has to pat his back to keep him from choking. Abby is looking at them strangely, but with a small smile on her face, flashing Kurt a thumbs up when he glances up at her. Kurt frowns, looking back at Blaine, who’s wiping his eyes, trying to breathe before erupting back into giggles.

“Oh.” And like a lightbulb being turned on in a dark room, Kurt understands why Blaine is laughing so hard, feels his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“You meant pot brownies, didn’t you.” 

Blaine nods, shoulders still shaking with residual giggles. 

“I’m sorry…” Blaine says, when he’s caught his breath. “I didn’t mean to laugh at you.”

“It’s okay,” Kurt says, still blushing a little from his lack of understanding. “I’m obviously a little inexperienced when it comes to… that.” 

The nervous look comes back over Blaine’s face. “I promise I don’t… I don’t use it all the time. I just… Cooper and I tried it once because he read it was supposed to help… help my TS and it did and so I just…” Blaine gives a small shrug. “It helps.” 

“Blaine, I’m not judging,” Kurt says quickly, hopes that Blaine isn’t worried Kurt’s going to suddenly run away with this new knowledge. “You have to do what helps you.” 

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Blaine says, turning to look at Abby. “I didn’t bring any.” 

Abby makes a disappointed noise.

“You had one job, Blaine,” she says, but doesn’t look too upset, instead stands up and wobbles for a moment before making her way over to them. She leans down and whispers something in Blaine’s ear that Kurt can’t make out, winking when Blaine swats at her before she saunters away. 

“What was that about?” Kurt asks, blinks against the way the room tilts. Blaine just shakes his head, a blush on his cheeks.

“Nothing, just… Abby being Abby.” 

“She’s an interesting character,” Kurt says, or tries to say, the words getting caught up on his tongue. Maybe he drank more than he thought. Blaine leans against him, his body heavy, still. 

“I haven’t seen you tic tonight,” Kurt remarks, before realizing what he’s said and biting his lip. “I’m sorry, that was really rude of me.”

Blaine swivels his head to look up at Kurt. His eyes are wide, slightly unfocused. 

“No, it’s okay, we can… you know.” He swallows. “Talk about it.” 

“I like you a lot.” The words slip out of Kurt’s mouth before he can stop them, and he knows tomorrow he’ll regret his penchant for saying whatever is on his mind when he’s drunk, but for now he doesn’t care. Blaine’s still blinking up at him, his lips parting like he wants to say something but doesn’t know what, and Kurt doesn’t stop himself, he cranes his neck to touch his lips to Blaine’s.

And then someone comes crashing into them, tangled feet followed by a lukewarm liquid, a string of expletives. Blaine pulls back, his shirt doused in spilled beer, a girl in his lap, simultaneously giggling and profusely apologizing. 

“It’s okay,” Blaine says, hands held up, staring down at his soaked shirt. Kurt can already smell the beer and he pushes the girl off of them. 

“I’m so sorry,” the girl says, dusts off her own shirt before looking between them. “He’s a catch,” she says, nodding to Kurt and Kurt only has time to look mildly offended before the girl is already distracted, weaving over to another group of friends. Kurt might be imagining it, but he thinks he sees Abby giving the girl a high five. 

“Just my luck.” Blaine’s voice draws his attention back, and Kurt gives him a sympathetic look. 

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” Kurt says, pushes himself to his feet before offering Blaine a hand. He leads them to the back of the apartment, where he guesses the bathroom is located. To his surprise, Blaine tugs him in a different direction, opens a door clearly marked _Do Not Enter._

“Um…” Kurt starts, points at the sign. “Should we…”

“It’s Abby’s room,” Blaine explains, closing the door behind them. “She won’t mind.”

“Okay,” Kurt relents, looks around the room. It’s surprisingly clean, with a neatly made twin bed, an organized desk, a darkened lava lamp on her bedside table. Blaine disconnects their hands, pulls at his damp shirt with a frown, nose wrinkling.

“This stinks.” 

Kurt laughs, lets his hands fall against his sides.

“Does Abby have something you can borrow?” 

Blaine nods, bends to tug open the bottom drawers of her dresser. Kurt’s eyes linger appreciatively on Blaine’s… uh, assets, before he forces himself to look away. 

“Aha!” Blaine exclaims triumphantly, extracting something from the drawer. It’s a plain oversized gray t-shirt, with _Mathletes 2010_ scrawled across the chest. Kurt raises a pointed eyebrow.

“I’ve fallen asleep here a few times,” Blaine explains, leaning against the dresser. “And she always gives me this shirt to sleep in.”

“Very sexy,” Kurt laughs, enjoying the red that creeps onto Blaine’s face. “It suits you.” 

Blaine sticks his tongue out, and Kurt doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol or something else, but suddenly everything feels easier in a way he can’t explain, the atmosphere between them becoming more relaxed, familiar. Blaine’s fingers fumble with the buttons on his shirt, his shoulder jumping in a movement so small Kurt wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been watching, entranced as the buttons come open, one by one. 

He stands and makes his way over to where Blaine is standing, Blaine looking up at Kurt with wide eyes as Kurt places his hands on top of Blaine’s, stilling them on the last button to the bottom. Kurt takes over, pushing the small plastic button through the fabric, lifting his hands and sliding them over Blaine’s shoulder, pushing the shirt down his arms. He’s wearing a thin undershirt beneath his button-down, stained yellow with beer across his stomach.

“I smell like beer,” Blaine says, his voice quiet, nose wrinkling when he glances down. 

“We better get this off you, then.” Kurt bites his lip, already feels stupid for how cheesy he sounds. But Blaine doesn’t say anything, just lets Kurt peel the shirt away from his body, lifts his arms so Kurt can pull it over his head. His stomach tightens against the chill of the air, goosebumps raising on his skin, and Kurt runs his fingers over Blaine’s shoulders, down to his biceps before letting his hands fall, fingers tentatively winding with Blaine’s. 

Blaine blinks, his eyes flickering over Kurt’s face, his eyebrows pinched in the middle and Kurt wants to run his thumb over it, wants to smooth out the worries Blaine carries every day. Instead he settles on leaning in, lips pressing to Blaine’s in a soft kiss. At least Kurt intended it to be soft, but he’s tipsier than he thought, and the world tilts under him, causing him to crash against Blaine, Blaine’s back slamming hard into the dresser behind him. 

“Oh my gosh,” Kurt says, his hands braced on either side of Blaine. “I’m so sorry.” 

Blaine looks slightly stunned, but his lips pull into a smile, a laugh escaping him after he takes in what just happened. 

“Are you okay?” The words slip out even though Blaine looks fine, and Kurt finds himself momentarily distracted by the sight of Blaine’s bare chest. Blaine’s bare chest, only inches away from Kurt, smooth and tan and Kurt’s struck with the urge to nuzzle into it, to nip and lick and kiss.

Whoa. Kurt shakes his head, tries to rid himself of such inappropriate thoughts. He might be a little drunk but he knows he doesn’t want to pressure Blaine into anything he’s not ready for, doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable. He’ll go slow, he’ll back off and give Blaine space, he’ll go home and take a very long, very cold shower. 

And then he’s being pressed backwards, fingers digging into his side, lips pressed hard against his own. Kurt’s hands flutter over Blaine’s chest, not quite sure where to touch. He settles on the area between chest and shoulders, thumbs dipping into the space above Blaine’s collar bones, tracing the curve of bone and muscle. Blaine shivers against him, lips pulling away just slightly, but Kurt chases them forward, parts his own just enough to let a slip of tongue trace the seam of Blaine’s lips. 

Blaine’s fingers flex against Kurt’s side, and Kurt can feel the nervous energy running through him, the way he pushes forward but also tries to pull away, as if he’s unsure about what he’s doing. Kurt deepens the kiss, lets his hands slide over Blaine’s collar bones to his shoulders, before pulling back.

“Is this okay?” Kurt asks, feels Blaine’s breath warm against him. Blaine’s cheeks are flushed, his eyes slightly stunned, but he gives a small nod. Kurt notes Abby’s bed only a few feet behind Blaine and he takes Blaine’s hand, guides him over until the back of his knees hit the bed frame. His legs buckle and he collapses back onto the bed with an _oomph_ , his hand still linked with Kurt’s, pulling him down with him. 

Kurt can feel Blaine giggling underneath him, takes a moment to compose himself, brushing back the hair that had come loose and fallen into his eyes. Blaine’s still laughing, an almost uncontrollable giggle and Kurt doesn’t really understand what’s so funny, but there’s something contagious about Blaine’s laugh that has him joining in.

“You brat,” Kurt says, swatting lightly at Blaine’s shoulder. Blaine shifts from where he’s laying on the bed, shirtless, chest heaving from his laughing fit and Kurt feels his pants growing uncomfortably tight. Blaine opens his mouth to say something, a protest Kurt guesses from the slight crease between his eyes, but Kurt lowers down, captures Blaine’s lower lip between his own. A surprised whimper makes it’s way from Blaine’s throat, and Kurt lets his teeth tug gently on Blaine’s lip before moving to press kisses down his jaw to his throat. 

Kurt can feel Blaine’s hands tentatively grip his sides, can hear shaky breathing in ears and he wants to tell Blaine to relax, that he’s perfect, to not be so worried. But the skin at the curve of his neck is so soft, smooth against his lips, that Kurt can’t help but nip and suck and explore and he knows he’s going to leave Blaine with an impressive hickey but he can’t bring himself to pull away. The thought of marking Blaine, of leaving him something he can look at for days and remember him by fills Kurt with a new sort of excitement, and he nips a little more forcefully.

“Kurt,” Blaine breathes, his hips pressing up against Kurt. A groan leaves Kurt’s throat and he presses back down against Blaine, feels a spark of pleasure starting to curl low in his belly. Kurt pulls his lips away from Blaine’s neck, moves back up to press a kiss just under his earlobe.

“Is this okay?” He’s already slightly out of breath, can feel sweat gathering at the back of his neck. Blaine nods against him, mutters a breathy _yeah_ , turns his head to meet Kurt’s eyes, his gaze flickering to Kurt’s lips like he wants to kiss but he’s nervous to initiate. So Kurt does, lips pressing and hips rolling down, white hot pleasure a spark through his body. 

Blaine gasps into his mouth, hands anchoring Kurt’s hips against him, fingers digging into the skin where his shirt has ridden up. Their kisses are becoming more sloppy, too much teeth and spit, but Kurt can’t bring himself to care, focused on the warmth spreading through him, the pleasure building and building until…

He feels Blaine shudder against him, hips jerking up once more before he grows still, sinking back onto the bed. Kurt follows shortly after, feels himself falling onto Blaine, his own breath harsh and panting. It takes a moment for the fog to leave his brain, for the sparking aftershocks of his orgasm to quiet down, and he realizes Blaine is still below him, unmoving except for the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Kurt rolls off of him, wincing at the sticky cling of his underwear, until he’s laying on his side beside Blaine. 

“You okay?” Kurt asks, hesitates only a moment before reaching out, fingers slipping under Blaine’s hand. Blaine blinks up at the ceiling, a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. A tinge of worry pulls at Kurt’s gut, and he wonders if he went too far too fast, if Blaine wasn’t ready for this yet, if this is going to end in a repeat of the bar bathroom, with Kurt left confused and alone. 

But then Blaine turns his head, looks at Kurt with pupils blown wide, eyelashes sweeping his cheeks with every blink. 

“Blaine?” Kurt prompts, gives Blaine’s hand a squeeze.

“I think I just zoned out,” Blaine says, fingers twitching in Kurt’s. “Did I go to another dimension?” 

Kurt laughs, shaking his head. “I think you might have.” On an impulse, he leans in, presses a soft kiss to Blaine’s cheeks, watches in amusement as a red blush creeps up over Blaine’s cheeks. Blaine bites his lip, looks like he’s about to say something before shaking his head.

“Abby’s probably wondering where we are,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. There’s a flicker of disappointment inside Kurt before he pushes it away, tells himself that he needs to let Blaine go at his own pace and this was probably a lot for him. It’s not running away, Kurt thinks. That’s progress.

“We wouldn’t want her to get any ideas,” Kurt says with a wink, before pushing himself up in the bed, grabbing the discarded Mathletes shirt from where it had fallen on the floor. Blaine doesn’t say anything as he pulls the shirt over his head, just looks shyly at Kurt before offering him his hand as they exit the room. 

Little steps, Kurt thinks, as they return to Blaine’s friends, sitting on the couch, Blaine’s thigh against Kurt’s. Abby takes one look at them before flashing Blaine a thumbs up. Blaine sticks his tongue out at her, but he doesn’t take his hands out of Kurt’s.

Kurt decides not to mention the hickey blooming just over the collar of Blaine’s shirt. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this chapter took me so long! I had some manuscript editing to do, so that took up most of my time for the past month! I'll try and get the next chapter out more quickly! You guys are all the best for being so patient <3
> 
> Warnings for drug usage of the pot variety

Blaine wakes up to something heavy pressed against him, wide blue eyes staring back at him. He rolls over, his pillow muffling his protestations. 

“What was that little brother?” Cooper pokes at his neck, a teasing note in his voice.

Blaine lifts his head. “Go away.” 

“Nope. I made you coffee and therefore you’re obligated to get up.” Cooper rips the covers off him, and Blaine groans, close his eyes against the throbbing in his head. “You can’t come home looking like you’ve been mauled by a bear and not give me an explanation.”

Blaine’s eyes snap open, his hand touching the tender curve of his neck. Cooper has a wide smile on his face, a glint in his eyes that means he won’t be letting this go any time soon. 

“Looks like you had a good time last night, Squirt.” 

Blaine kicks Cooper off the bed, pushes himself up with a grunt. His shoulder jumps, his teeth clicking together and he purposefully ignores Cooper as he makes his way across the room into the bathroom, shutting the door forcefully behind him. 

In solitude, he lets his tics out, has no one to hide from. He squeezes his eyes shut, his hand hitting his chest once, twice, three times. Shoulder jumping, jaw snapping together. He shouldn’t have drunk that much, he _knows_ alcohol does this to him. But the memory of Kurt’s lips on his, the warm weight of his body against him, the bliss of letting himself go rises in him and he doesn’t regret it. Not really. 

He turns on the shower, presses his hand into his leg, digs his fingernails into his knee, tries to channel this energy into something else. When steam starts to curl through the bathroom, fogging the mirror and making his hair feel damp with humidity, he climbs into the shower, lets the hot water beat down on his shoulders, soothe the ache in his muscles. He wonders what Kurt’s doing now, if he’s woken up yet, if he’s lying in bed thinking about him, if he regrets what happened. 

No. He pushes the thought from his mind. Kurt had kissed him before they parted, sweet and lingering, had linked their fingers and like he was reluctant to leave. “Text me?” he’d asked before getting on the subway, and Blaine had nodded and assured him he would, and Kurt had left with a smile on his face. He couldn’t regret this. 

Cooper’s words float back into his head, and when the water starts to turn cold Blaine steps out of the shower, wipes the steam from the mirror with his towel. There’s a deep purple bruise where his neck meets his shoulder, blooming like a lavender flower, with smaller petals scattered over his collar bones, his chest. A blush reddens his cheeks, even though he’s alone, and Blaine drapes an extra towel over his shoulders, arranging it to block most of the marks. It’s juvenile, but the sight of the marks makes something tingle deep inside, makes his toes curl into the shaggy blue bath mat, and it scares him. He’s never experienced anything like this before, and it’s new and scary, and his heart still wants to put up a guard, spiked steel plates that nothing can break through. 

He peeks out of the bathroom and Cooper is nowhere to be seen, so he slips back into his room, pulls on a pair of loose jeans and a hoodie, making sure any marks are covered. Cooper is frying eggs in the kitchen when he finally emerges, a full pot of coffee ready on the counter. Blaine grabs a mug from the cupboard - one they had gotten on a family trip to Disney World, years ago, with a chip in the handle - pours a liberal amount of coffee when his arm gives a jerk, shoulder bouncing, coffee sloshing over the lid of the carafe. 

“Fuck,” Blaine curses under his breath, setting the carafe onto the counter with more force than necessary. 

“It’s okay, I got it.” Cooper steps beside him, that infuriating big-brother-swooping-in-to-save-the-day look on his face, and Blaine glares at him before realizing how childish he’s being, setting his head onto the counter with a loud groan. A hand pats his back, and he feels Cooper moving beside him as he mops up the spilled coffee with his other hand. 

He lets himself tic, not even caring that Cooper is so close, that his uncharacteristic quietness is a sign of his concern. He’s so tired, of fighting this all the time, of having something good being ruined by his own inability to function like a normal person, and all he wants is for this to be _easy_ , why can’t this be easy?

“Go sit, I’ve got something better than coffee.” 

Blaine obeys, digs his palm into his knee while Cooper disappears for a moment, reappears with a plate of eggs and a pipe packed with tiny green buds. Blaine picks up the piece, accepts the lighter Cooper passes over to him, and takes a hit, drawing in a deep breath, feels the burn in his throat, down to his lungs. He holds it there, until his chest aches with it, slowly exhaling and passing the pipe over to Cooper. 

They smoke in silence, forks scraping porcelain plates as they eat their eggs, until Cooper looks over at Blaine, a concerned crease between his eyes.

“You can talk to me, you know. If anything’s bothering you.”

Blaine glances down at his plate, now empty except for the yellow remnants of a runny yolk. 

“I… I’m alright.”

Cooper gives Blaine a skeptical look. “I know you like Kurt, but it seems that every time you go out, have a date, whatever you youngins’ do, you’re always… off the next day. And, I don’t know, I worry about you, Squirt.” 

Blaine runs his finger along the edge of the table. “Kurt’s… good.” A smile pulls at his lips, the bruise on his neck twinging. “He’s been so good, and I’ve been the one messing everything up.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Blaine looks over at Cooper. “Not really.”

“Alright. But if you think it’s going to be anything like…”

“It’s fine,” Blaine cuts Cooper off; he can feel the high seeping into his bones, relaxing his muscles and loosening tendons, and he just wants to enjoy this. Cooper doesn’t say anything else, just, looks at Blaine for a moment before standing up, taking Blaine’s plate back into the kitchen. 

Blaine sighs, his eyes fluttering shut, and he lets himself sink into the chair, the hard wooden back pressing into his spine, his knees knocking into the table legs. He sinks, and wonders what would happen if he let himself sink under, give himself over and just disappear.

His sock slips on the floor, eyes snapping open. 

It sounds lonely. 

He gets up, runs a hand through his hair, and helps Cooper wash the dishes.

-

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Whatcha up to?_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Homework :(_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_On a Saturday?_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_My final project is due next week_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Ah gotcha. Well don’t let me keep you from it_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_I just wanted to tell you I had fun last night, and I hope we can do that again_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Hang out I mean, not the other thing_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Unless you want to do the other thing, and then I’m all for that_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Oh my god, I’m giving Rachel my phone_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_I’m so sorry. You’re trying to study. GO STUDY. BE WISE._

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_I just dropped my phone under the couch from laughing to hard_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Jive at 3?_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_See you there ;)_

-

They start with shy smiles and awkward silences. Kurt buys Blaine his drink, and Blaine spreads an impressive array of papers over the table, and they rustle like dry leaves when he thumbs through them. It’s obvious Blaine really does have a lot of work to do, and Kurt doesn’t want to be a nuisance, so he opens his laptop and scrolls through a few of his favorite fashion websites, checks his schedule, rereads the paper he’s already turned in. He’s done with nearly everything for the semester, only a final showcase to preform in and then a glorious month off. A glorious month of possibilities, of no obligations other than his job at the diner, and Kurt only hopes Blaine will be similarly free. 

“What are you doing over break?” Kurt asks, when Blaine leans back in his chair to crack his back. He’s wearing a thick sweater and a scarf wrapped around his neck, the thought of what’s under the scarf making Kurt’s cheeks feel warm. 

“Um… going home mostly,” Blaine says, pushing his books away. “My mom goes a little crazy if we can’t come home for Christmas.” His shoulder jumps, jaw clicking together twice, a blush spreading across his cheeks. “What about you?”

“I couldn’t afford a ticket, so…” Kurt shrugs, attempts to act as nonchalant as he can. “Just staying here.”  

Blaine chews on his lip, opens his mouth as if to say something, his jaw snapping shut with a painful crack. His shoulder jumps, and he presses his hand into his knee, and Kurt tries not to stare, he’s seen this happen before, but it’s still difficult not to look. To see someone’s body move like this, like he’s fighting for control, when Kurt’s spent his life surrounded by dancers and performers, when every movement is purposeful, exaggerated sometimes, but always meant. He’s spent the last three years training his body to do what he wants, to push its limits and do things he never thought he could, and to have that taken away, for his body to be outside of his control. He doesn’t know how he would manage it. 

So he stares down at his coffee, at the dented wood of the table beneath it, and waits until Blaine speaks again. 

“We’re driving back to Ohio.” His voice is soft, sounds almost nervous, his hand rubbing at his neck. “You could come with us, if you wanted.” 

“Why are you driving?” 

Blaine chuckles. “Cooper has an irrational fear of flying. We do it every year.” 

Kurt raises an eyebrow. “Let me talk to my dad about it. I do miss not being able to get home.” 

“We’d be happy to give you a ride.” 

“It could be a like a road trip. Oh, can I make a playlist for it?” 

Blaine laughs, eyes crinkling in the corners. “I’m sure it will be better than anything Cooper could choose.” 

The conversation comes to an awkward lull, both of them sharing shy glances. Blaine grabs his pencil, and Kurt traces a line on the table, crosses his legs, accidentally kicking Blaine in the process. They both giggle, and Blaine kicks back, his foot lingering near Kurt’s.

“I had fun last night,” Kurt ventures, eyes trained on Blaine, gauging his reaction. Red creeps over his cheeks, his hands tugging at his scarf. 

“Me too.” Blaine peeks up at Kurt through long lashes, and Kurt’s overwhelmed with the sudden urge to just lean across the table and kiss him deep and hard right now. It’s a yearning, like a string pulling at his heart, tugging him forward, and he can barely resist. Instead he folds his hands together, lays them on the table, holds them steady. “Thank you, for coming last night. To the party I mean.”

Now it’s Kurt’s turn to blush, and he can think of at least twelve Santana-approved comments, but he swallows them down. 

“So you’re…” Kurt pauses, searches for the word. “You’re okay? With what happened last night?” 

“Yeah.” A smile tugs at Blaine’s lips, his fingers ghosting over his scarf. “I think I am.”

-

They leave the Wednesday before Christmas. Kurt manages to get two weeks off at the Spotlight Diner with the promise of picking up extra shifts when he gets back, and his dad is ecstatic with the news. He manages to cram everything into one suitcase, loaded into the back of the rented Prius Cooper and Blaine pull up in, and tries not to get too excited about spending nine hours in a car with Blaine.

“Alright kids, seat belts on?” Cooper looks back at them from the driver’s seat, a grin on his face. “Remember, no touchy-feelies back there, okay? Keep it PG.” 

He turns back around, thumb scrolling over a scratched iPod, before Guns n' Roses starts blasting from the stereo. Okay, maybe Kurt takes back the whole excited-about-nine-hours-in-the-car thing. 

“Don’t fight it,” Blaine says with a laugh, obviously sensing Kurt’s distaste. “It’ll only make it worse.” 

Kurt lets his head fall dramatically back against his seat, and with that they’re gone. 

-

The first hour of the drive falls into an awkward silence, only Cooper’s terrible musical selections filling the car. Kurt keeps sneaking looks over at Blaine, who’s staring adamantly out the window, his shoulders tense and jaw set, and Kurt wonders if he regrets asking him to come on this trip, if he doesn’t want him here anymore. A few times he catches Cooper’s eyes in the rearview mirror, can make out a concerned crease between his brows. 

Once they’re out of the busiest of New York streets, Cooper declares a coffee/pee stop, and pulls into the first Starbucks they come across. Kurt pees first, stands in line to wait for their drinks as Cooper and Blaine take their turns. He watches Blaine, the careful way he moves, the uncomfortable look on his face when they stand in the crowd until Cooper pulls him out of the café. 

Kurt waits until their drinks are presented in a cardboard carrying container, before he leaves. He can hear them talking around the corner of the building where the car is parked, and he pauses, Cooper’s voice muffled but he can make out most of the words.

“…them in. It’s not good for you.” 

Blaine mumbles something that Kurt can’t make out, and he can hear an exasperated sigh.

“He’ll understand. Don’t be an idiot.” 

Kurt takes the pause after Cooper’s words to turn the corner, announces his presence with a loud _hi_ and an overly cheerful smile on his face. He passes off the coffees and they get back into the car, the inside already cold from being off for short time. A shiver shakes through him, his hands pressed tight around his paper cup for warmth. 

“Here.” Blaine’s voice surprises him, and Kurt turns to see Blaine digging a blanket out from the bag shoved at his feet.

“Thank you.” Kurt offers him a smile as he takes part of the blanket, spreading it out over his lap, and making sure Blaine has enough for himself as well. It feels strangely intimate, sharing a blanket with Blaine, and Kurt tucks his legs up on the seat until he’s just barely touching Blaine. Blaine stares down at his lap, traces over the red and blue plaid of the blanket. His shoulder jumps, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a noise that sounds like a deep grunt, once, twice. 

Three times. 

“Hey,” Kurt says, poking Blaine’s shoulder, tries to keep his voice soft enough that maybe Cooper won’t hear them. “Everything okay?” 

Blaine nods, a quick movement, but he looks sad, and Kurt wants to change that, feels the strange tug deep inside. 

“Good, because we have some serious road trip games to start playing.”

They make it through I Spyand the license plate game, they play Heads Up! on their phones and dissolve into a fit of giggles in the back seat. Blaine’s still holding back some of his tics, Kurt can tell by the set of his shoulders, how he digs a hand into his knee, but he lets more of of them through, and Kurt thinks he’s slowly starting to open up. 

They talk about school, and Blaine goes into a long tangent about robotics before he cuts himself off with a blush, and Kurt has to reassure him that he finds it fascinating. But Blaine doesn’t talk for long, and soon Kurt takes over the conversation, regaling Blaine with stories about the dramatic NYADA students, and the shenanigans his roommates have gotten him into. Story telling turns into a sleepy sunset, the night coming earlier every day, and soon Blaine starts to nod off, the gentle lull of the car making eyelids heavy, brains slowing down. 

Blaine’s fast asleep when they stop for more gas, head pillowed on his jacket against the door, and Cooper insists Kurt sits up front when they get back on the road. Kurt obliges, but a nervous flutter rises in his stomach.

“Is this when you give me the standard big brother speech?” Kurt asks when they pull back on the highway. The road is dark and it’s starting to snow, flakes catching in the bright headlights, making Kurt feel as if they’re stuck in a snow globe. Everything moving around them, but going nowhere. 

“I suppose it is,” Cooper says, looks over at Kurt before focusing back on the road. 

“Does it go something like this: _Blaine’s a good guy and if you hurt him I’ll kill you?_ ” 

Cooper chuckles. “Yeah, pretty much.” 

“Don’t worry,” Kurt attempts to reassure, glances into the back seat. It’s dark enough that he can only just make out Blaine, his soft curls pressed against his jacket, his lips lightly parted in sleep. “I can’t explain it but… I care about Blaine. I’ll do everything I can not to hurt him.” 

Cooper is silent a moment.

“Did he ever tell you about the last time he tried to date someone?” 

There’s an edge to his voice that makes Kurt frown, and he shakes his head. 

“It’s not my place to tell you, he’ll do that when he’s ready, but you should know…. It messed him up for a long time. He… he doesn’t trust easily, and I can see that he wants to trust you. So don’t screw it up, or I will kill you.” 

Cooper sends Kurt a look that lets Kurt know he’s serious, and Kurt doesn’t doubt it. 

“I’m going to try,” Kurt says, his voice barely above a whisper. He looks down at his lap, at his hands that yearn to hold Blaine’s, that tingle with the memory of his skin warm against him. And he’s surprised to find that he means it, he does want to try, there’s something about Blaine that draws him in like a magnet, tugging him forward and he doesn’t want to resist anymore. 

And then Kurt looks up, sees the bright lights heading straight towards them, doesn’t have time to process before there’s an angry crunch of metal and pain across his chest and then. 

Dark. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no words of excuse for how late this chapter is. I'm sorry.

Flashes.

Red and white lights. A shrill sound in his ears. Muffled shouts, a groan making it’s way through his lips. Something pressed against his face. The sensation of moving, jostling, an aching pain. 

He closes his eyes. 

-

He blinks awake. Everything feels heavy and muffled, like cotton has been stuffed in his ears, a thick blanket pressed over his body. The world wavers around him, the edges fading like a watercolor with too much water, colors and shapes swirling together. There’s a sound, a weak groan, and it sounds close, an ache in his throat, his legs, his head. 

“Kurt?”

A blink. The world dark and then light. Another groan, dry lips and a weighted tongue, and he realizes it’s coming from him. The groan belongs to him. 

“Kurt?”

Someone takes his hand, and he tries to curl his fingers but he’s moving through molasses, and he can’t figure out why everything is so difficult. 

“Hey buddy.” 

He blinks again, eyes roaming and there’s a shape beside him. A shape with red, concerned eyes, plaid flannel, an old, red baseball cap. A hand holding tight to his own. 

“Dad?” Except the word doesn’t come out like Kurt wants, his tongue stuck in a dry mouth, the word choked and garbled. 

“Shh,” Burt places a hand on Kurt’s chest, grabs something from the bedside table. “You’ve been pretty out of it, bud. Your throat’s probably dry.” 

Something presses against his lips, a shock of cold slipping into his mouth and Kurt reflexively swallows around it. Ice. Burt offers him another spoonful when the first melts, and Kurt parts his lips eagerly, the cool water a relief against his burning throat. 

“Dad… what…” Kurt tries again, attempts to push himself into more of a sitting position and stops when white hot pain licks through him. 

“Take it easy.” Burt’s voice is gentle, his hands fumbling for something and the head of Kurt’s bed begins to raise until he’s in a more comfortable sitting position. It’s only now that Kurt can see his left leg is wrapped in a dark grey cast. “You were in an accident, do you remember?” 

Kurt blinks, stares at his leg, down at his hands, at the dark purple bruise smudging his arms. He remembers… driving. A road trip. Laughing and games and…

“Blaine?” Kurt’s head snaps up to find Burt, panic clawing up inside him. His voice is hoarse, every breath scratching painfully in his throat, but he doesn’t care, his heart slamming against his ribcage. “Blaine, is he… Where is he?” 

“Hey, calm down.” Burt presses a hand to Kurt’s arm. “Blaine’s in a room down the hall. He’s okay. Hell, I think he’s getting discharged today.” 

Kurt relaxes back into his pillows, takes a deep breath and tries to slow his racing heart. Blaine’s okay. 

“Is he hurt?” Kurt winces as the words grate his throat and Burt offers him another scoop of ice chips, which Kurt accepts, savors in his mouth until they melt and glide an icy river down his throat. A sad smile pulls at Burt’s lips.

“Sometimes I can’t believe you’re my kid, you know that? Here you are, broken leg in a hospital room and you’re worried about someone else.” Burt shakes his head, a chuckle working it’s way out. “You are your mother’s son.” 

Kurt looks back down at his leg, his hand reaching to finger the edge of his cast, just below his knee.

“You fractured it pretty good. They had to put four pins and some sort of metal plate in there, but the doctors say it should heal up okay.” Kurt wiggles his toes, bites his lips against the spike of pain. It’s bearable this time, now that he knows to expect it, and he tries to smile a reassurance at Burt, but from Burt’s expression he isn’t fooling anyone. 

“And before you ask again, Blaine is fine. Looks pretty banged up, but nothing broken to my knowledge.”

“You saw him?” Kurt asks, fingers pulling at the blanket that’s tangled up beside him. 

“He was in here earlier today, kept hoping you’d wake up. Can’t say this is how I wanted to meet your new boyfriend, but you’ve never really done anything the easy way, huh.” 

“Boyfriend.” Kurt rolls the word around his mouth, likes the way it tastes on his tongue. Sweet and cool, like ice chips.

“Isn’t that what you are?” Burt asks, raising an eyebrow. “Blaine was sure raising holy hell, throwing that word around when they wouldn’t let him come see you.” 

A laugh bubbles out of Kurt at that, the image of Blaine, sweet, quiet Blaine shouting at the nurses and raising _holy hell_. He’s not sure if it’s the pain meds or something else they’ve been giving him, but Kurt can’t stop laughing, even with the ache it brings, the little spikes of pain. Burt joins in after a minute, both of them giggling until Burt has to wipe his eyes, pulls his cap off his head and runs his hand through his sparse hair. 

“You gonna give your old man a heart attack one of these days, you know that?” 

Kurt lets himself sink back into his bed, his head thrown back against his pillows.

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be.” 

Kurt inhales, feels the stale hospital air through his nose, against his tongue, fights back the creeping tendrils of sleep trying to drag him back under.

“Can I see him?” 

A sigh, and then a chuckle. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

Sleep crawls over him.

-

He blinks awake to long golden rays of the setting sun streaming in through the hospital window. There’s a shuffling noise beside him, the scrape of a chair, the sniffing of a nose. Kurt rubs the bleary fog from his eyes, a head of matted curls coming into view beside him. 

“Blaine?” The name comes out more as a croak then anything else, but Blaine’s lips curl up into a smile. Kurt blinks again, the world clearing around him, and his breath catches in his chest, his stomach twisting into a knot. 

“Blaine, your face.” Blaine looks down, the tips of his ears - the only part of his face that doesn’t seem to be covered in a deep purple bruise - flushing red. 

“I’m okay.” The words are mumbled, and Blaine’s shoulder jumps, his jaw snapping shut, hand digging into his leg. The muscles in his jaw clench, his eyes squeeze shut and Kurt feels at a loss, not sure if he should say something, reach out and offer support, not sure what Blaine needs. 

“It looks worse than it is,” Blaine says after a moment, looking back up at Kurt but his smile is strained, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows convulsively. “Mostly just bruising. They let me go free today.” 

Kurt nods, wiggles his unbroken leg.

“Cooper?” 

A shoulder jump, a jaw snap, a halting, grunting noise. 

“He’s in the room next to you. He’s fine, just a broken wrist and nose. Most of the impact was on your side of the car.” 

_Jump. Clench. Jump._

“Good, I’m glad he’s okay.” Kurt tries to catch Blaine’s eye, only manages to hold it for a second before he looks away. “I’m glad you’re okay.” 

Blaine squeezes his eyes shut again, a tear clinging to his lashes before slipping free, tracking down his cheek. Kurt reaches to brush it away and Blaine jolts back, a panicked look on his face.

“Sorry,” Kurt whispers, settles his hands back on his lap, feels a lump growing heavy in his stomach. 

“No, I’m…” Blaine’s voice catches, three clicks, a jaw clench. “I’m sorry. I was so worried and, I’m…” 

Another tear slips down his cheek, a frustrated noise escaping his throat. 

“It hasn’t been this bad in a long time, I’m sorry.” 

The words are heavy with embarrassment, Blaine’s face deep red even around the bruising, and Kurt can almost see the waves of nervous energy radiating off him. 

“Hey,” Kurt reaches forward, slower this time, touches a finger to Blaine’s chin until Blaine looks up at him through eyelashes clumped together. “I’m okay. You don’t have to be worried anymore.” 

Blaine’s lips purse together, and he makes a hiccuping sound, shoulder jumping. A thought pops into Kurt’s head and a laugh breaks loose, Blaine looking up at him with a confused expression.

“Did you really yell at the nurses? And tell my dad you’re my boyfriend?” 

This time an actual smile creeps onto Blaine’s face, his finger drawing a line on the sheets beside Kurt. 

“I might have.” 

Kurt laughs again, Blaine’s posture relaxing just slightly, but it feels like a win. 

“Well, _boyfriend_ ,” Kurt emphasizes the word, and Blaine glances up at him shyly. “I’d sure like it if you were a little closer, you know?” 

Kurt pushes himself over in the bed, pats the space next to him. Blaine stands, but glances hesitantly at bed until Kurt gives him an encouraging nod. Blaine carefully crawls in next to him, taking obvious care not to jostle Kurt’s leg, and Kurt can see from his stiff movements that Kurt’s not the only one feeling sore. 

“There.” Kurt takes Blaine’s hand in his own, tugs him closer until Blaine’s head falls against Kurt’s shoulder. “Much better.” 

He presses a kiss to the top of Blaine’s head, his flattened curls smelling of sweat and generic hospital soap. He can feel Blaine tic against him, can feel the tension in his shoulders, the way he squeezes Kurt’s hand too tight, but he’s here and he’s not pulling away and for the first time since Kurt woke up in this stuffy hospital room he feels _okay_. 

-

They let him out the next morning with a bottle of pain pills and a pair of crutches, which Kurt grumbles and groans about, while Blaine flutters around him, hands brushing against his back, holding his bag, glancing nervously at Burt, anchored to Kurt’s side. Pam, Blaine’s mother, had arrived shortly before Blaine had been discharged, and Kurt tried his best to hide his smile at the way Pam fussed over Blaine and Cooper, brushing their hair out of their eyes and licking her thumb before wiping dirt off their nose. Cooper had been discharged a few hours before Kurt, nursing a broken nose and a wrist wrapped in a purple cast. 

Kurt settles into the backseat of Burt’s truck, his leg resting on the seat beside him. The rental car had been totaled in the accident, and Kurt’s phone had been smashed, Blaine’s only seeming to work sporadically. 

“My mom might have an aneurism if I don’t ride with her,” Blaine says, when Kurt’s tucked comfortably into the car. Blaine rubs a hand over his eyes and winces, the purple bruise looking even more harsh and unforgiving in the daylight. 

“I’ll probably sleep most of the drive anyways,” Kurt tries to reassure, even though there’s a disappointed tug in his stomach. 

“Will you…” Blaine looks at the ground, his hand working the back of his neck. “Will you call? When you get home? Or tomorrow if you’re too tired, that’s okay too.” 

“I’ll call.” Kurt reaches a hand out to tug Blaine’s shoulder, until Blaine steps onto the runner, his face level with Kurt’s. Kurt presses a kiss to Blaine’s cheek, a gentle, featherlight kiss, a nervous flutter where his heart should be. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Blaine whispers, his breath tickling Kurt’s neck, his hand tangling in Kurt’s shirt before a throat clears in the front seat, Burt looking pointedly back at them. 

“We better get going.” 

“ _Dad_.” Kurt attempts to send Burt his best glare, but Blaine’s already jumping away, tongue clicking. He mumbles something that sounds something like _drivesafetalktoyousoonbye_ before he turns to where his mom is waiting patiently by her car, Cooper’s head just visible in the front seat. Pam wraps Blaine in a hug, presses a kiss to his head before she ushers him into the back seat. Kurt waves at Blaine, too exhausted and hazy on pain medicine to sort through the hurricane of emotions swirling through him, just lets himself smile when Blaine waves back before closing the door, his eyes slipping closed almost as soon as Burt pulls out of the parking lot.

-

It’s two days before Kurt is conscious long enough to call Blaine. Two days spent holed up in his room, with Burt and Carole bringing him soup and pain pills and helping him with the embarrassing task of showering with only one leg to balance on. Two days of thoughts made fuzzy by pain pills, and relentless dreams of smashed metal, of bruised faces and icy roads. And also unicorns, but Kurt’s not sure how to explain that one. 

Two days until Kurt works up the energy to make his way downstairs - with the steady hand of his father on his back - and sit at the kitchen table, the house phone that Burt had refused to get rid of despite Kurt’s insistences that landlines were irrelevant clutched in his hands. He dials Blaine’s number, nerves that he can’t quite explain fluttering in his stomach, and presses the phone to his ear. 

It rings twice, three times, four times, and something sinks inside him when-

“Hello?”

“Blaine?” Kurt’s voice is high with surprise, and he clears his throat, slightly embarrassed. “Hi, it’s, uh, it’s Kurt.” 

_Smooth, Kurt. Way to sound brain damaged._

“Hey.” 

Blaine’s voice is short, slightly tense and the unease grows in Kurt’s stomach. 

“Sorry it’s taken me so long to call. I don’t know what was in those pain pills they gave me but I’m pretty sure they put me in into a coma and it’s surprisingly difficult to get around when you feel like a zombie with one leg and… yeah,” Kurt trails off, feeling stupid. “Anyways, sorry.”

“It’s okay, I don’t blame you.”

“Blame me for what?” Kurt asks, confused at Blaine’s words and the uncharacteristic lack of emotion in his voice.

“For being upset with me,” Blaine says, and there’s a waver in the words and Kurt’s completely thrown. 

“Since when am I upset with you?” 

“Kurt… It’s my fault your leg is broken. You had to have _surgery._ ” 

“Hold up.” Kurt clutches the phone tighter, his voice hard. “Did I forget where you tied me down and physically broke my leg?” 

“No, but if…”

“Was there some _Misery_ action going on that I blocked from my memory?”

“Well… no, but…”

“Blaine, stop. Unless you can somehow control the snow and ice that was on the road, it’s no one’s fault. These things happen, okay?”

“ _These things?_ Kurt, you could have died!”

“Wow, thank you for that great nugget of knowledge. And you know what? I could walk outside right now and get hit by a car. I could drop dead from an aneurism right now and it would _not be your fault._ ” 

Kurt’s so wrapped up in his lecture he forgets the throbbing in his broken leg, until he gestures and knocks his knee against the table leg, a shock of pain shooting through him. 

“Kurt?” Blaine sounds concerned, and Kurt realizes he let out a string of curses, but he’s too tired to be embarrassed.

“I’m fine,” Kurt says through clenched teeth. “But I’m going to go, and you can call me when you’re done blaming yourself for things that are not your fault.”

Kurt’s about to hang up when he hears a tiny _wait_ coming through the phone. He draws in a deep breath, closes his eyes and tries to will away the residual pulsing pain in his leg and puts the phone back up to his ear.

“I’m sorry.” Blaine sounds small, meek. “I just… I’ve been sitting here so worried and then I convinced myself you hadn’t called because you were mad at me and I guess I just…”

“Spiraled?” Kurt suggests, and Blaine gives a small laugh through the line.

“You could say that.” 

“Are we done spiraling? Unspiraled? Straightened out? Wait… cross that off, we don’t want any straightening out.” 

Blaine laughs again. 

“How come you’re the one cheering me up?” 

“Probably because I’ve been too high on pain meds to entertain many negative thoughts.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“…”

“Blaine?”

“Yes?”

“How’s your face?” 

 “Well, I sort of look like I lost a fight with brick wall, as Cooper likes to keep pointing out to me.” 

“Cooper’s doing alright?”

“Oh, he’s just as insufferable as ever. And now he has a pity card to play.” 

Kurt chuckles. 

“Can I see you soon?” 

“I don’t know if my mom will let me out of her sight until after Christmas, but… I’d like that.” 

“After Christmas. It’s a date.” 

Blaine giggles. Actually _giggles_.

“Hey, are we still… you know…”

“CIA super-spies? Because I have to let you know, I turned in my resignation…”

“Boyfriends.” Blaine cuts him off, and Kurt feels a little thrill run through him at the word. “Are we still boyfriends.” 

He sounds so shy, and when Kurt closes his eyes he can picture the pink blush that spreads across Blaine’s cheeks whenever he does anything forward, the eyes that flicker to his face, always guarded but so hopeful. 

“I’d like to be,” Kurt says, wishes he could take Blaine in his arms right now. 

“I’d like to be, too.” 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy buckets, I can't believe I'm updating so fast! I start my new job tomorrow so I'm not sure when I'll be able to update again, but hopefully soon! 
> 
> Just an additional warning for some slurs and offensive language in this chapter. If you have any questions feel free to shoot me a message!

Christmas passes quietly. It’s their second Christmas without Finn, and while it isn’t as hard as the first one, Kurt can tell none of them really feel in the mood for much celebrating. Not with crunched metal and a shattered leg still fresh in their minds. 

They exchange gifts in the morning over homemade eggnog lattes, spend the day reminiscing and laughing over stories about Finn, about McKinley and their group of high school misfits. Kurt takes a nap in the afternoon, his leg aching from so much activity, and tries not to wait and hope for Blaine to text him. 

-

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Merry Christmas!!!_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_You sound very chipper_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_(and merry christmas to you too)_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_I can be chipper_  

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_I have the potential for chipperness_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_I take it you had a good Christmas?_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Tolerable. Mom was still smothering us, but Cooper tuned down the Cooper-ness_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_I didn’t know that was possible with Cooper_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_I told him the same thing_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_He said it was in the name of Jesus_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_I’m sure Jesus is very happy_  

 

**Blaine to Kurt** :

_Well now he’s started loudly announcing he’s doing everything in the name of Jesus_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Pretty sure Jesus wouldn’t want him to put that much rum in his eggnog_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Why do brothers exist?_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_To personally torture you_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_So I’m pretty sure I can get out of house arrest tomorrow_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_If you wanted to, idk hang out or something?_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Maybe? I understand if you’re busy and have other things to do_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Blaine. Do I need to give you another lecture?_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_I’d love to see you. My upward and onward mobility is sort of limited though… you could come over here?_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_If I wouldn’t be imposing on your family_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Not at all. I think Carole has a soft spot for you_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Okay. I’ll talk to my mom and let you know_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Perfect_

-

Blaine stands on the front porch of Kurt’s house, staring at the door, mouth suddenly dry. His mom had driven off with a kiss to his cheek and the promise that she’d be back to pick him up later that evening. He’s not quite sure why he’s so nervous, it’s just _Kurt_. Kurt, his boyfriend. 

His boyfriend.

His.

Boyfriend.

His stomach turns its knots into knots, his shoulder jumping and a grunt grinding it’s way out of his throat. His tics have been worse since the accident, resurfacing like old friends he thought he’d said goodbye too, locked out of his body forever. 

“Kurt doesn’t care,” Blaine whispers to himself, digging his fingernails into his palm. _He doesn’t care. He likes you. For whatever crazy reason, he likes you._

Blaine swallows around the lump in his throat. It’s started to snow, just a few soft flakes drifting down from a cloudy sky, his breath coming out in foggy puffs. 

He knocks on the door and waits. 

Movement from just behind the door, the handle turning with a click, and Kurt’s dad is there, eyes flickering over Blaine. 

“Mr. Hummel,” Blaine greets, but his voice comes out in a squeak, and he can feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment. 

“Blaine,” Burt returns with a nod, opening the door all the way. “Come on in. Kurt’s in the living room.” 

Blaine can’t help curling in on himself as he walks by Burt, willing himself not to tic as he deposits his boots by the front door, shucks off his jacket onto the coat hanger. It seems important to  make a good impression on Kurt’s father, like he has to make up for what happened to Kurt, like there’s no more room for error. He knows he should say something, thank Burt for letting him come over, apologize, beg for forgiveness, tell him he’s going to do _better_ , he’s going to try his hardest to be better for Kurt, and it might not seem like it right now, he’s just this small, twitchy boy who doesn’t deserve someone as amazing as Kurt, but he’s going to _try_. 

He wants to say all of this and more, but he doesn’t, just digs his fingernails into his palm, swallows back his tics, and follows Burt into the living room. 

Kurt is sitting on the couch, his leg propped up on a pillow, crutches against the wall beside him, a pile of magazines on the coffee table. 

“Blaine!” He exclaims, an actual smile on his lips, and he shifts as much as he can without jostling his leg. “I’m so glad you made it.”

Blaine lets a smile pull at his lips, breaking through the carefully crafted exterior he’s been clinging too. 

“Thank you for having me over.” He manages to look at Burt after he says this, and Burt just nods at him, offers a _I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything_ , before disappearing. Kurt rolls his eyes and pats the couch next to him, motioning for Blaine to sit.

“Don’t mind him. You’re the first boyfriend I’ve brought home. He’s trying to do the _scary dad_ act when he’s really just nervous.” 

None of this makes sense to Blaine, but he nods anyways. Sitting down is easier, he can dig his palm into his knees like he’s practised, channel the static energy that’s building in him until he feels like he might burst if he doesn’t let it out.

“Your face is looking better,” Kurt says after a moment. “Does it hurt?”

Blaine shakes his head, which is only partly a lie. 

“It’s feeling better.” He doesn’t mention the ribs bruised from where the seatbelt had stopped his forward motion, his neck which is still sore from whiplash. He has no room to complain when Kurt has it so much worse. “How is your leg feeling?” 

Kurt shrugs. “I’ve managed to wean myself off the heavy duty pain pills, so that’s something. It’s more of a nuisance than anything. Have you ever tried to shower on one leg with the other wrapped in a garbage bag? It’s a feat of contortion I haven’t mastered yet.”

Blaine lets his gaze flicker to Kurt’s face, sees the gentle smile there and knows Kurt isn’t upset. 

“That sounds awful,” Blaine tries to sympathize. A shoulder jump-grunt-blink-grunt combo breaks through, and Blaine can feel Kurt’s eyes on him. Blaine stares at his knees, mumbles a quiet, “sorry.” 

“Hey, Blaine, can I ask you something?” Kurt’s voice is soft and Blaine glances up at him. 

“Of course.”

“When we were in the car, before the… you know, Cooper said something about, um, about you dating someone before? And that something happened?”

Blaine feels his stomach sink, nausea churning inside of him, rising into his throat. He’s going to murder Cooper when he gets home. Kurt must understand the look on his face because his next words are rushed, a hand pressed to Blaine’s arm. 

“He didn’t tell me anything, I promise. He was just… I think he was trying to protect you. But… I guess I was wondering if you wanted to tell me. I don’t want to…” Kurt pauses, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “I don’t want to do anything to hurt you.” 

Blaine blinks, is caught so off-guard a series of tics break loose before he can channel into his leg. His mouth feels devoid of all moisture, heart pumping painfully in his chest. 

“I, um.” He starts. Stops. Squeezes his eyes shut, tries to build a wall against the memories that threaten to overwhelm him, to follow and torment him. He’s spent so long pushing them away, overcoming them and moving on. 

“I’d rather not,” he manages, his voice rough. He looks up at Kurt, hopes that somehow he understands. “I’m sorry, I just. I can’t.”

Kurt’s hand gives Blaine’s arm a squeeze, fingers running down the length of it until he threads his fingers through Blaine’s. Blaine’s palm is sweaty but Kurt doesn’t say anything, just strokes his thumb in a gentle rhythm on Blaine’s hand. 

“It’s okay. I didn’t mean to pry.” 

Blaine nods, sucks in a deep breath and forces a smile onto his face. 

“It’s okay, it’s just old news, you know?” It sounds forced, even to him, and he can tell Kurt doesn’t believe him. But Kurt doesn’t press, and Blaine is grateful. 

“Blaine, it’s so nice to see you again!” Carole’s entrance breaks the silence that had started to settle over them, and she makes her way into the living room, a genuine smile on her face, a giant plate of cookies in her hands. 

“Carole has been force feeding us cookies,” Kurt says with a chuckle that shows he’s not really annoyed. “You don’t have to let her pressure you.” 

Blaine lets out a small laugh. “I like cookies.” 

Carole shoots a smug grin at Kurt. “Of course you like cookies. Everyone like cookies.” 

She sets the plate on the coffee table in front of them before leaning in to give Blaine a quick hug. 

“You’re looking great, Blaine. The bruising looks like it’s clearing up nicely.” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Hummel. It’s feeling much better too.” 

“I’m glad to hear it. Now you boys let me know if you need anything else, all right? We have plenty of snacks and drinks if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Carole,” Kurt says, and she kisses his forehead before leaving them alone once again. 

“Your family is very nice,” Blaine says and Kurt smiles. 

“I’m glad you like them.”

“Well, I’d be lying if I said your dad still doesn’t scare me.” 

Kurt laughs, squeezes Blaine hand. 

“He’s all talk, don’t worry.” 

“I heard that!” Burt shouts from the living room, and Blaine feels his cheeks growing bright red. Kurt laughs again, leans over and presses a kiss to Blaine’s cheek, which just makes his face feel even hotter.

“Do you want to see my room?” Kurt asks, and Blaine nods, swallows and tries not to think too much about it. 

“Yeah, okay.” 

It’s a bit of a process getting Kurt up the stairs, between the crutches and the cast making his movements clumsy, and they’re both slightly out of breath by the time the get to the door of his room.

“I will be so happy when this thing is off,” Kurt mumbles, glaring down at his leg. He collapses heavily onto his bed before gesturing around him.

“Welcome to my humble abode.” 

Blaine looks around, takes in the not-quite-pristine condition of the room, the deep red curtains, the velvet pillows, the fashion magazines stacked on shelves, and revels in the utter Kurt-ness of the room. 

“I like it,” Blaine says, steps further in and takes a seat at a desk overflowing with notebooks and designs and music. A strange look crosses Kurt’s face when he sits, and Blaine’s not quite sure what to make of it, but it’s replaced quickly by a smile. 

They talk for awhile about their Christmases, about overbearing parents, and the weather, and what the upcoming school year will be like. Blaine begins to relax, no longer feeling the urge to maul his leg to keep the tics in. Kurt keeps drumming his fingers on the bed, opening his mouth when there’s a lull in the conversation like he wants to ask something, but then bites his lip, looks around until he comes up with something generic to say. 

Blaine’s pretty sure he’s doing something wrong, but he’s not sure what, he’s never had a boyfriend before and he’s not sure of the protocols on these things. Maybe he should have sat next to Kurt on the bed? Should he be asking different questions? Do they need to be making out? Because Blaine’s not sure if he’s capable of making out, especially not when sober. Even the thought makes him feel uncomfortable, like his skin is too tight, his muscles too stiff. It makes him feel anxious and hot and unsure, and maybe maybe maybe he’s not cut out to be a boyfriend. Maybe he’s just going to end up being a disappointment.

“Blaine?” Kurt’s voice breaks through his thoughts, and Blaine jerks his head up, blinking gritty eyes and he realizes he’d been staring at the floor. Great. “Everything alright?” 

“Yeah,” Blaine tries to reassure, but it sounds forced. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t still blame yourself for what happened, do you? Because I can give you another lecture.” 

There’s a teasing smile on Kurt’s lips, but his eyes are concerned. Blaine shakes his head. 

“No, I know it wasn’t my fault.” It’s only a partial lie, really. “Sorry, I was just… thinking.”

Kurt looks at him for a moment, like he’s trying to work out a puzzle, trying to understand a complex riddle.

“I’d like it if you sat on the bed with me. You don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable, but I would like it.” 

“Oh.” The surprised slips from Blaine’s lips and he stands, wipes sweaty palms on his jeans and steps across the room, sits gingerly on the bed beside Kurt.

“There, now I can see my boyfriend up close.” Kurt nudges Blaine’s shoulder with his own, and Blaine nudges back. But he’s tense again, sitting this close to Kurt, he knows Kurt can feel every jump, every jerk of muscles and bones and sinew that want to rebel against him. He’s under a microscope, and at any moment Kurt can decide he’s done, he’s seen enough, he doesn’t need this jumbled mess in his life. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

Blaine blinks. 

“Whatever it is seems to be troubling you.” Kurt takes Blaine’s hand, holds it between both of his and tries to capture his gaze. “I know it can be hard for you to talk about things, but I want to try and help. If you’ll let me help.” 

Blaine looks into the green of Kurt’s eyes, sees the furrow of concern in his brow, and knows that Kurt really does want to help. Blaine’s the one making this difficult and awkward.

“I’ve never been anyone’s boyfriend before,” Blaine says after a silent moment. He looks at his hand clutched in Kurt’s. His shoulder jumps, his jaw snapping shut, a grunt, two, three. Kurt doesn’t pull away. “I’m not… sure how.” 

“I’m certainly no expert on the manner either,” Kurt says, and his voice his light. He leans forward and presses a kiss to Blaine’s cheek. Nothing more, just one small kiss. “How about we try and figure it out together?”

Blaine nods, feels a knot in his stomach loosen. He touches a kiss to Kurt’s cheek in return, feels his face growing warm, sure that he’s bright red behind the bruises. 

“That would be okay.” 

-

Later, after Blaine’s mom has picked him up and Kurt had made the grueling trek back up to his room, he spreads himself out on his bed, laptop perched beside him. It had been a good day, once they’d gotten past the awkward tension from the morning. Blaine had loosened up, as much as Kurt’s learning Blaine does, and they’d spent the day watching movies, and playing board games with Burt and Carole. It had been surprisingly fun, and Blaine had even laughed so hard that he’d complained of sore ribs after.

Kurt had pressed a soft kiss to Blaine lips when they said their goodbyes, and Blaine had blushed adorably, had promised he’d text him as soon as he got home. Blaine had actually seemed happy, and something curls excitedly in Kurt’s stomach at the thought. 

But now he’s exhausted, his leg beginning to throb, and he considers asking Carole if he can take some more ibuprofen yet. She’ll be up soon enough with the bedtime snack she keeps insisting he eats, full of protein and calcium and other bone building nutrients, and Kurt hasn’t had the heart or the energy to try and deny her. So he opens his laptop, logs on, scrolls mindlessly through Facebook, checks Twitter and the fashion blogs Isabelle has him follow. 

Just as expected, Carole brings him peanut butter crackers and a glass of milk, a paper cup with two more glorious orange pain pills. She sets the tray beside him, takes a seat on the edge of his bed.

“Blaine is very sweet,” she says, handing Kurt the pills. He takes them with a swallow of milk, a smile on his lips.

“I think he likes you guys.” 

“Well, he’s certainly welcome back here any time.” Carole straightens the blankets at the end of his bed, pats them smooth.

“I just wish he trusted me more.” Kurt looks at Carole and her eyes soften, her hand rested on Kurt’s uninjured leg.

“You don’t think he trusts you?” 

“He’s always so guarded, like he’s afraid to be himself. Like I’m going to turn into a stupid jock that will make fun of him.” 

“Oh, honey. Blaine hasn’t had it easy. He just need some time to open up. I’m sure he’ll come around to you.” 

Kurt bites his lip. “I hope so. I really like him, but I just… I don’t know if I’m patient enough. Or nice enough.” 

Carole is silent for a moment, a thoughtful look on her face.

“Life hasn’t been easy for you either. It’s hard growing up different from everyone else in a place like Ohio. And you and Blaine, you’ve found different ways to make it through. You’ve done what you needed to do. And now you’re living somewhere so much _better_ , and you’re happy out there, I can tell.”

Kurt smiles, feels unexplained tears begin to gather in the corners of his eyes. 

“Life has had its ups and downs, but you’re living your dream, Kurt, you really are. Your dad and I are so proud of everything you’ve accomplished. And I know Finn would be too. I can’t tell you whether Blaine fits into that picture or not, but I can tell that boy is head over heels for you. As long as you’re true to yourself I think things will work out just fine for you, honey.” 

Kurt sniffs, lets out a shaky breath. “Thank you, Carole.”  

He leans forward, lets Carole wrap him in a tight hug. She smells like she was just doing laundry, the crisp scent of detergent and dryer sheets clinging to her clothes, and Kurt doesn’t want to let go. 

But he does, wipes his eyes and mutters an embarrassed excuse about pain pills making him emotional. Carole runs her hand through his hair, tells him to get some rest before she leaves with the promise to check in on him later. 

Kurt lets out a long breath when he’s alone again, feels shaken from the sudden swell of emotions that have overwhelmed him. _Stress_ , he tells himself, scrubbing a hand over his face. _It’s just stress_. 

He grabs his laptop, pops a peanut butter cracker into his mouth and pauses, fingers hovering over the keyboard. He’s done research, read the basic facts about what Blaine’s living with, but maybe somewhere there is advice for people like Kurt, who need help understanding and navigating a relationship with someone with Tourette Syndrome.

Kurt does a basic search for _Tourette Syndrome_ and _relationships,_ browses through a few mildly helpful websites, mindlessly snacking on his crackers while he does so. He saves a few sites for future reference, although most of the advice is pretty much common sense. 

He finds a few youtube videos of both individuals with TS and those in a relationship with them that offer some advice, or just talk about experiences they have had. It’s interesting to watch, to see people with tics so similar to Blaine’s, and some completely different. Kurt wonders if Blaine’s ever watched these videos, if he likes knowing there are other people out there going through similar things. Or maybe he doesn’t like the reminder, maybe he’s just trying to get through things on his own, his own way. 

Kurt’s about to close out of the internet tab he has open when a video link at the bottom of the screen catches his attention. It’s titled _twitchy touret meltdown (repost)_ and the still image is the back of a curly, dark head of hair. Something about it makes Kurt feel uneasy, but he opens it anyways. 

The video is grainy, like it’s being taken a phone, the sound slightly tinny and distant. It looks to be in some sort of cafe or restaurant, the image bright and overexposed, but Kurt can still make out the figure taking up the right side of the screen. Shaggy brown curls, a face with warm skin and honey eyes, cheeks still round with mid-puberty baby fat. 

Blaine. There’s no questioning it. A Blaine that looks to be about fifteen, and Kurt’s stomach drops,  nausea bubbling inside him. 

It’s obvious the beginning of the video has been cut off, or someone started recording halfway through a conversation, the sounds coming through the speakers a jumbled mess of conversation mixed with laughter. Blaine’s face is tense, his eyes blinking furiously, his shoulder jumping, and his opposite arm raising to smack himself in the forehead. Once, twice, three times, on and on again. A string of expletives escapes from his mouth, and it’s hard to understand from the poor sound quality, but what Kurt can hear makes the breath stop in his lungs. 

Someone is laughing, and Kurt’s pretty sure he can see tears in Blaine’s eyes, but it’s hard to tell because the face slapping just keeps going on and on, and then the cursing changes to a barking noise, harsh and painful. And Kurt doesn’t want to keep watching, but he can’t look away, his heart pounding against his rib cage. 

The video is nearly two minutes long, ends with a _hey, what’s going on_ from a distance, the camera phone being jerked and the image cutting out. Kurt stares at the screen, feels out of breath, can’t quite process what he just saw. 

_Does Blaine know about this?_ The words float through his head and Kurt shakes them away, feeling stupid. Of course Blaine knows about this. This video is years old, and by the look of it and the comments underneath, has been reposted a few times. 

Shit. Kurt’s hands are shaking as he reports the video as inappropriate and then promptly shuts his laptop, unable to look at it anymore. This must be what Cooper had been talking about. Blaine’s bad experience, why Blaine is so reluctant to talk about it, why he finds it so hard to trust anyone. Kurt can’t even imagine what it would have felt like, for the sweet, earnest Blaine that he knows, who only ever wants to just fit in, to have this video surface, anyone able to watch it with the click of a button. 

Anger licks through him, courses white hot through his veins, and tears burn at his eyes. It’s so unfair. It’s unfair that something like this should happen just because someone is different, because they don’t fit in one of the shiny plastic molds high schoolers like to shove everyone in to. 

His phone vibrates beside him, and Kurt blinks, pushes his computer away from him and rubs his eyes to try and clear his head. The phone shows four missed messages; it must have gone of when Kurt was watching the video and he didn’t hear it. He unlocks the screen, gazes down at his texts. 

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Thanks for having me over today. I had a lot of fun!_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Maybe we could meet up again before we go back? We could go on a real date maybe?_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Only if you want to of course_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_I’m making a fool of myself again, aren’t I? :P_

 

Kurt stares at the messages, imagines Blaine sitting at home, working up the courage to actually ask Kurt to go out on a date, before immediately doubting himself and trying to backtrack. It’s sweet and sad at the same time, and Kurt wishes that he can be what Blaine needs. That he can make things right again. 

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_A real date sounds fabulous. How about the day after tomorrow?_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Can’t wait :)_


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second to last chapter is here! I apologize that it took so long!
> 
> Some warnings in this chapter for discussion of bullying, negative self-talk, the standard warnings from the rest of the story.
> 
> Also, I just watched this fantastic movie on Netflix called The Road Within, about a boy with Tourette's Syndrome. I would highly recommend it. It deals with some heavy subject matter so use caution before watching.

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Sorry I had to cancel our date yesterday_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_It’s okay, you were protecting me from your deadly germs_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhh_

 

**Kurt to Blaine** :

_Cold still that bad?_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_I don’t think I can feel my face anymore. And I look like Rudolph_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_I happen to think Rudolph is very cute_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_…………_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_And I thought I was the one with germs addling my brain_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Shush. I’m trying to be nice._  

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_;)_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Well in that case, thank you_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_;)_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_A winky face??? I am aghast_  

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Hey you used it first_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Shhh, your brain is addled with germs, remember?_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_You’re mean_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_;)_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_I’m not talking to you anymore_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_I’ll see it when I believe it_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Wait that was wrong_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_HAHAHAHA_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Damn. Maybe I have brain addling germs also_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Or pain killer brain_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Yes. I’m going to blame my leg on everything from now on_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_I think it’s allowed_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Good._

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_So I was going to tell you but my dad bought me a plane ticket to fly back to NY in two days_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Yeah, my mom got us some tickets for tomorrow_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Cooper is going to fly????_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_He has no choice at this point._

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_I’ll send you pictures though._

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Good. Blackmail._

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Good thinking._

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_I wish I could have seen you before we leave though :(_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Well Rachel is planning a New Years party extravaganza. Would you like to come?_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_And meet all your friends…??_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_I promise they don’t bite_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_…And there’s sort of this tradition at midnight I’d like to participate in_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_What’s that?_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Seriously???_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_Kissing Blaine. Kissing._

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Oh. Yeah. That is a thing, isn’t it_

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_;)_

 

**Blaine to Kurt:**

_Shut up._

 

**Kurt to Blaine:**

_;)_

 

-

The flight back to New York is long and tiring, and the first thing Kurt does when he gets home is promptly flop onto his bed with a groan. His leg is throbbing from all the activity, and his eardrums are ringing from Rachel’s continuous stream of concern and her desire to know every single thing that has happened to him. 

She starts to follow him into his room, and Kurt lobs a pillow at her, grunts something about needing sleep, and buries himself under his blanket. He can hear Rachel retreat into the living room, complaining to Santana about being _under appreciated_ and _only trying to help_ before Santana tells her to get lost and the Rachel stream shuts off. 

Kurt’s thankful, and only lets himself feel a little bit guilty. There will be plenty of time to pander to Rachel later. Right now, he just wants to rest. 

“I’m glad you’re not dead!” Santana shouts from the living room, the first words she’s spoken to him since he hauled himself through the front door. Kurt huffs and rolls back over, and takes a deep breath into stiff lungs, massages his thigh above his cast. 

His phone beeps with a text from Blaine, asking if he made it home okay. A smile pulls at Kurt’s lips as he responds. They didn’t get to see each other again before coming home to New York due to Blaine’s terrible luck at somehow contracting a cold despite the house arrest his mom had him on, and Kurt would be lying if he said he doesn’t miss him. 

He misses Blaine’s adorable shy smile, the way his eyes light up when he laughs, the way his cheeks turn red when he lets himself be honest, the way his hand feels in Kurt’s. He misses him, but there’s also the memory of the video on Kurt’s mind, eating away at him, planting itself deep inside and sprouting questions and concerns and so many things Kurt wants to ask and know and protect Blaine from. 

It’s been difficult to not call Blaine up and ask him, to text or email or _anything_ to get answers, but Kurt knows Blaine deserves to explain this to him in person. That Kurt shouldn’t catch him so off guard with something that Blaine so obviously doesn’t want him to know about. But Kurt can’t un-see it, and he can’t take it back, not anymore. 

Rachel’s New Years Extravaganza is tomorrow, and while Kurt feels like he could sleep for probably a week and a half straight, Blaine is coming over, and Kurt knows he needs to talk to him. He shouldn’t be keeping secrets from him. Secrets haven’t helped anyone, and in his experience they cause more hurt than good, and this thing he has with Blaine is so _new_ and so _real_ and Kurt doesn’t want to ruin that. 

Butterflies that Kurt never thought would actually be real take flight in his stomach, and holds his phone in close, pretends he can feel Blaine next to him, and gives himself over to sleep.

-

Blaine spends an abhorrently long amount of time in front of the mirror. So long that Cooper plops himself down on his bed, munching popcorn with his un-broken hand, commentating on Blaine’s actions like he’s a contestant in a reality show. Blaine glares at him but ignores his teasing, tries to decide between the navy button up or the dark green polo. 

“I like the blue,” Cooper offers from the bed. “Really brings out your dreamy eyes.”

“Shut up,” Blaine counters, throws an empty can of soda at him. 

“Hey, I’m just trying to help.” Cooper hold his hands up innocently. “You want to woo your boo, don’t you?” 

“Okay, first, never say ‘boo’ again. And I don’t… I’m meeting all of his friends. I’m allowed to be nervous, right?” This sentence ends with a hitch of his voice that Blaine hadn’t expected, his hands fluttering at his sides, his insides a jumble of nerves. Cooper’s expression softens and he leans forward, looking at Blaine earnestly. 

“You’re going to do great. They’d be crazy not to like you.” 

Blaine looks back at the mirror, at the residual bruising just under his eyes, a soft purple fading into an ugly yellow. His shoulder jumps, his jaw snaps together. They’ve gotten a little better in the days since the accident, the tics. If Blaine’s being honest, not seeing Kurt has helped, having nearly a week to just relax and not worry about impressions and holding himself - holding _them -_ in.

He feels bad, not being able to see Kurt, but it was all just _so much_ , everything so new and foreign, and he felt like a ship lost in uncharted waters, waiting and waiting and waiting to sink. Because it’s inevitable, he knows it is. If his life has taught him anything, it’s that good things don’t happen without repercussions, and every moment that passes without them make Blaine feel like a taut string about to snap. 

It’s so much easier, being alone. 

It’s safe. 

Better. 

He closes his eyes and breathes. 

“Hey, you okay?” Cooper’s voice is quiet, concerned, and Blaine blinks his eyes back open. 

“Yeah.”  

Cooper stands, looks at Blaine a moment before pulling him into a hug, and Blaine lets his head fall onto Cooper’s shoulder, breathes in the familiar scent of laundry detergent and Cooper’s cologne. 

“It’s going to be okay.” Blaine sucks in a shaky breath at Cooper’s words, truly wishes he could believe them. “Kurt loves you, ya goon. I know you don’t want to believe it, but that boy is crazy about you.” 

Cooper rests his good hand on Blaine’s shoulders, takes a step back and captures his gaze. 

“I’m proud of you, lil’ bro. I know this isn’t easy for you.” 

Blaine looks at the cast on Cooper’s wrist, thinks of everything they’ve been through together. Despite Cooper’s arrogance and constant need for attention, he’s been there for him, every time Blaine has needed him, he’s been beside him and supported him, and Blaine’s not sure where he would be without him. 

“Thank you,” Blaine whispers, looks up at Cooper’s stormy blue eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile and he hopes Cooper knows those words mean _so much_. Cooper nods, ruffles Blaine’s hair, and disappears before Blaine’s words of protest leave his lips. But Blaine turns back to the mirror, straightens the hair he spent so long trying to make perfect, and smiles. 

-

Blaine makes it to Kurt’s apartment exactly five minutes early. He hesitates at the entrance to the building, feels the cold biting at his cheeks, watches snow drift to the ground in lazy flakes, glittering under the artificial light of the streetlamp. It’s calm outside, serene, and part of him wants to stay outside, to feel the chill of the winter night, quiet and alive.

But he thinks of Kurt, of the way his face lights up when he smiles, his eyes so warm and kind, the tingle of electricity his touch leaves, pulsing through Blaine’s body. Kurt is a warm fire curling in his belly, a gentle heat that reminds him it’s so much better in the warmth, than shivering in the cold. 

“Are you coming in?” 

A voice makes Blaine jump, and he whips his head back towards the apartment entrance to see a tall dark haired girl in a ridiculously short, bright-red dress staring at him with amusement. 

“Um.” Blaine feels caught off guard, and the girl smiles at him, runs a hand through silky hair.

“I’m Santana, Kurt’s roommate. You must be Blaine.” There’s a husky warmth to her voice that reminds Blaine of whiskey and cigarettes, a look in her eyes like she’s bored and curious at the same time. 

“I am,” Blaine says, bites his tongue and curses himself for acting so stupid. “I’m Blaine. Sorry, I was just…”

“Thinking about running away again?” Santana asks, crossing her arms under her breasts and raising an eyebrow. Blaine’s mouth goes dry and he swallows, his shoulder jumping, clenches his teeth to keep his jaw from clicking. “Oh, Kurt tells us pretty much everything. He’s about as secretive as an unlocked diary.” 

Blaine frowns, tugs at the scarf around his neck, unsure what to make of Santana. Running away doesn’t actually sound like a bad idea, now. 

“Look, short and curly, if you want to be with Kurt, you’ve got to man up. No more of this avoidance and running away crap, okay? God help me for saying this, but I care about Kurt, and you seem like a nice guy, even if you are a little twitchy, and maybe if Kurt’s happy he’ll be a little less insufferable.” 

Blaine blinks, her words washing over him so fast he’s not sure if he should be offended or confused or flattered or maybe a little bit of all three. 

“Um. Okay?” He manages, and Santana smiles a smile like honey, reaches out a hand with nails manicured a bright red, and pulls Blaine into the building. 

“Great. Glad we had this talk.” Her voice is practically a purr, and she runs a hand down his back as she leads him up the stairs, her stilettos clicking on each step. 

Blaine’s not sure what to say, so he follows silently, presses his fingers into his palms, and tries to get himself under control. 

“Blaine!” The sound of Kurt’s voice and his stomach flutters, Santana’s hand leaving his back as Kurt envelops him in a hug, holds him so close that Blaine can feel the warmth of his chest, his breath tickling Blaine’s neck. “I missed you.” 

Blaine breathes in the heavy scent of Kurt in his arms, rich with lavender and vanilla and musk, and feels a bit like he’s melting.

“I hope you’re feeling better?” Kurt pulls away and looks at Blaine, concern on his face, and Blaine nods.

“Much better.” Blaine glances down at Kurt’s leg, the crutch helping him to balance. “How’s your leg?”

Kurt waves his hand, as if brushing off the question. 

“It’s giving me a lot of sympathy points, and I get the best seats on the subway, so I can’t complain too much.” 

His smile is like sunlight, a glimmer of white teeth, and pale cheeks rosy with a light blush. Blaine’s mouth grows dry as his pants grow tight. He’s missed Kurt, he’s missed him more than he realized, and he feels foolish for being so nervous before.

“Blaine? Is everything okay?” The smile on Kurt’s face falters, and Blaine forces his own, tries to look reassuring.

“I just… I missed you too.” Blaine looks down at his feet, his maroon socks and Kurt’s dark blue ones, their shoes in a neat pile by the door. 

And then a tiny ball of energy is in between them, shoving two glasses of champagne in Blaine’s hands, dark hair drawn up in a pony tail with a red velvet bow.

“Hi, you must be Blaine.” The tiny person says, and Blaine can only nod before she’s talking again. “I’m Rachel, Kurt’s roommate, I’m sure he’s told you about me. We go to NYADA together, though I started before him. I’ve heard _so_ much about you and I’m so excited you came to my New Year’s Extravaganza. There are only two rules for you tonight. One is that, as a gentleman, you should hold Kurt’s drink for him, as he is currently incapacitated, and two, you must sing at least once. That’s a requirement for everyone.”

“Rachel.” Kurt sounds exasperated. “Please leave Blaine alone. And I am _not_ incapacitated.”

Rachel raises an eyebrow at Kurt. “May I remind you that just yesterday you tried to…”

“Be gone,” Kurt commands, grabs Blaine’s wrist and awkwardly limp-drags him away. Rachel makes a dissatisfied noise, but seems to get the hint, and flitters away to the kitchen, leaving them alone. 

“Wow,” Blaine breathes. “So that’s Rachel.” 

“Yeah.” Kurt huffs a laugh, though it doesn’t sound particularly amused. “That’s her.”

Blaine follows Kurt to an area of the apartment divided off by a curtain, and is surprised to find a bed, nightstand and wardrobe in the small space.

“Is this your room?” Blaine asks looking around. His shoulder jumps, a triple grunt in his throat, teeth clicking together. 

“This is my humble abode.” Kurt gestures to the tiny space. “Grand, isn’t it?”

Blaine raises an eyebrow. 

“Not much in the way of privacy though?” 

Kurt shrugs and lowers himself down onto his bed. 

“I make it work.” He pats the spot on the bed beside him, and Blaine sits as close as he dares, nervous of jostling Kurt’s leg. Kurt frowns at the good foot between them, but takes the extra glass of champagne from Blaine’s hand. 

“Happy New Year,” Kurt says, his voice soft, and clinks his glass against Blaine’s. Blaine drains the glass in one go, feeling an anxious jitter in his stomach. 

Kurt looks pointedly at the empty glass when Blaine sets it on the bedside table, and Blaine smiles sheepishly. 

Shoulder jumps.

Neck jerks.

One grunt. Two. Three. 

“Sorry.” Blaine whispers, wishes that just for one freaking second his body would just be. 

Still. 

“You don’t have to always apologize.” 

Kurt pushes himself a few inches closer, his fingers grazing Blaine’s knuckles. Blaine looks at him, his teeth snapping together, grunts again. 

“Fuck.” He turns his head away from Kurt, frustration building white hot inside him, but before he can stand up, hide, melt, or any of the things he wants to do, Kurt’s hand is on his shoulder, and. 

And then lips are on his, just a brush, then more urgently, teeth grazing, igniting something else inside of Blaine, his mind momentarily going blank. And then he reacts, his own hand settling on Kurt’s bicep, leaning forward until they’re barely inches apart and he can feel the heat from Kurt’s body against his own. 

They part, just for a second, with an obscene smacking noise that Blaine has only heard in movies, and it makes his cheeks grow hot, a flush creeping up his neck. He takes a breath, can feel Kurt doing the same beside him, before Kurt falls back against him, pushing Blaine down onto the bed under him. It’s a little awkward, and they both giggle when maneuvering Kurt’s cast onto the bed is a decidedly cumbersome and un-sexy act, but then they’re together, laying side by side, Kurt’s fingers threading through Blaine’s. 

No words are exchanged, Blaine’s mind too full of champagne and desire to form anything coherent, and so he stares into the vibrant green of Kurt’s eyes instead. The hand not in Blaine’s travels up, traces a line down Blaine’s jawbone, and Blaine’s eyes flutter shut of their own accord, Kurt’s touch leaving a tingling warmth on his skin. And then the soft press of lips where the fingers had been, following the line of his jaw, his neck, up to his chin, before capturing his lips once more. Blaine tries to summon whatever confidence he has, rests a hand on Kurt’s hip, a move far more bold than he feels, and presses against Kurt. 

His breath feels too loud, and Blaine’s sure Kurt can hear the hammering of his heart, can feel the sweat already gathering at the back of his neck, but Kurt doesn’t stop, doesn’t pause, just continues to kiss, lewd and deep, tongue skimming Blaine’s mouth, mapping, carving away at his lingering timidness. 

A sound escapes Blaine’s throat, and he nearly jumps, because it wasn’t a tic, it was something so much better than a tic, and yet still so beyond his control. 

“Everything okay?” Kurt’s voice cracks just a little, his eyes concerned. “Am I going too fast?” 

Blaine shakes his head, swallows and tries to find his voice. “No. I mean. It’s okay. This is okay.”

Kurt looks slightly doubtful, ready to pull away, but Blaine tighten’s his hold on Kurt’s hip, sends what he hopes is an imploring look. 

“I promise. I… I’m good.” 

Kurt nods, a smile pulling at his lips. “Well then. Where were we?”

-

They continue until Santana hollers something obscene at them from behind the curtain, and Rachel announces that dinner is ready and they better not miss it at any costs. It’s only then, when they break apart, that Blaine can hear significantly more people beyond the curtain than when he got here. 

Kurt makes a grumbling noise, pushes himself into a sitting position, and wiggles himself to the edge of the bed. Blaine feels slightly dazed, like he’s not sure what just happened really just happened, and he stands up, glances at himself in Kurt’s full length mirror. His lips are abnormally red, his face flushed, his curls more wild than normal, his clothes slightly rumbled. 

“Oh no.” He tries to straighten, to make himself presentable, and it’s only when his shoulder jumps and his teeth snap together does he realize that he hasn’t ticced since they’ve been kissing. 

But of course, like every time he gets a reprieve, they’re back in full force, complete with the chest slapping and weird barking noise he’s been working so hard to get rid of. He can feel Kurt’s eyes on him, and he stabs the ground with his toe in frustration.

“Why can’t I ever get a fucking break?” 

He doesn’t mean for the words to come out but they do, and he feels embarrassed for the slip, scrubs a hand over his face and sucks in a deep breath. 

Tics. 

A hand on his shoulder, and somehow Kurt’s come up behind him, turns him around until they’re face to face. 

“You don’t have to hide.” Kurt’s words are firm, a pillar for Blaine to lean against. “Not from me.” 

The barking noise escapes him, along with the click and shoulder jump, but Kurt’s gaze doesn’t leave his face, his expression doesn’t change. 

“Okay,” Blaine whispers, and it’s all he can manage. Laughter breaks out from beyond the curtains, and Blaine flinches, chews at his bottom lip. “I suppose I need to go meet all your friends now, huh?”

“You don’t have to be nervous. Just stay away from Santana and you should be fine.” 

Kurt smiles at him, but it looks just a tiny bit forced, and his hand fidgets. 

“Everything okay?” Blaine asks, glancing down at Kurt’s leg, wondering if maybe it’s bothering him. Are impromptu make out sessions bad for broken limbs? 

“Actually, I wanted to talk about…”

Kurt’s words are broken off by the curtain to his room being forcefully pulled back and Rachel’s tiny body appearing, an impatient look on her face.

“I know you’re having your little lovers’ tryst, but it would be nice if you decided to come eat the food your favorite roommate spent all day slaving over,” Rachel says, her arms crossed, sending both of them a pointed look before turning on her heel and heading back into the kitchen. 

Kurt huffs out a laugh, and shakes his head, leaning in close to whisper to Blaine. 

“She ordered the food, don’t tell anyone.”

Blaine laughs, lets himself forget his nervousness for a moment, tries to pretend he’s just a normal guy going to meet his boyfriend’s friends. No big deal. He can do this.

Totally. 

Kurt grabs his crutches from where they are propped at the end of his bed, situates them under his arms.

“Shall we?” 

Blaine nods, turns back to the mirror once more to straighten his hair and clothes as best as he can.

“What were you going to tell me?” he asks, pausing before they leave the room. Kurt bites his lip, something crossing his face that Blaine can’t quite read, before he smiles.

“It can wait.” Kurt’s voice wavers slightly, before he starts to hobble out to the dining area. “Now come on, I’m starving.” 

-

Blaine meets more people than he can remember, and his cheeks start to ache from forcing a smile. Thankfully Kurt is beside him the entire time, a hand on his arm or grazing his side, knees bumping as they eat the mashed potatoes and vegan meatballs that are surprisingly delicious. Blaine has no problem believing that Rachel didn’t actually make them - she looks more prone to setting things on fire than actually successfully cooking a meal.  

Blaine contents himself with observing the group more than participating. He can tell they’re all close friends who’ve known each other for awhile, their easy laughs are contagious, their inside jokes making him want to smile even if he doesn’t understand them. It’s not hard to figure out the group that knew each other through high school - Artie and Sam and an odd girl named Brittany that Blaine actually finds himself getting along with. There are others that are obviously friends from college and work, singers and dancers and Blaine feels a bit like he’s in the middle of a high fashion circus with the number of people bursting out into Broadway tunes, tap dancing numbers, and he’s pretty sure he heard an interesting rendition of _Let’s Have a Kiki._

It’s busy enough in the apartment that his tics go mostly unnoticed, just an occasional odd look, nothing that Blaine isn’t already used to. Brittany asks him if he has birds living inside of him, and Sam stops talking mid-word every time Blaine tics, but Blaine has to admit that Kurt’s friends are much more accepting than he was expecting. Blaine feels a little silly for his worry, because it’s not like Kurt would be friends with anyone cruel, but life has taught Blaine that you can’t always trust someone just because they’re nice to you. 

He pushes the thought away, and plops himself on the couch beside Kurt, a refill of champagne for them in his hands. Kurt accepts gratefully, but he doesn’t look Blaine in the eye, his fingers drumming on the couch distractedly. It’s obvious something is bothering him, but Blaine doesn’t know how to ask, and it’s too loud in here to have a proper conversation.

Glitter falls around them, and he can hear Rachel shouting something about _not until midnight you imbecile_ , and Blaine finds a sort of peace in the noise, amidst the glitter and streamers and singing. It’s not a conscious decision, not really, but he lets himself go, doesn’t try to hold back his tics, and they’re calmer for it. He leans against Kurt, rests his head on Kurt’s shoulder, smiles when he feels Kurt’s fingers scratch at his scalp. 

It’s nice, and he drifts for a while, watches the chaos around him. He thinks about what Luke and Abbi are doing, and if they’d get along with Kurt’s friends. He hopes he’ll get a chance to to find out. 

It’s nearing midnight when Kurt wiggles against him, runs a hand on Blaine’s shoulder, and whispers something about needing the bathroom. Blaine unfurls himself, the champagne making him feel looser than normal, and he helps Kurt up from the couch. Kurt smiles at him but it’s forced, squeezes his hand before turning and crutching his way to the bathroom. Blaine watches him go, something uneasy in his gut. He wants to know what’s bothering Kurt, but he’s scared of the answer. What if Kurt regrets having him here? What if Kurt’s embarrassed by him? It wouldn’t be the first time he’s been asked to leave a party or event because of his tics. Kurt’s friends are all so talented, so poised and attractive and confident… he sticks out like a sore thumb, and he knows it. 

Anxiety curls inside of him and he’s frozen, standing by the couch like an idiot, his shoulders tense, his jaw snapping together. He doesn’t know what to do, if he should just leave before Kurt comes back, delete his Facebook and change his phone number and try and disappear? That’s a totally reasonable option, right? 

But before he can move, the door to the bathroom opens, and Kurt hobbles out, making it halfway across the loft before he sees Blaine and pauses, his eyebrows drawing together. Blaine feels like he’s vibrating, like everything is too much, the noise is too loud and he can’t _breathe_ in here, spots in his vision and ears ringing and…

“Hey.” A voice beside him. Kurt, and somehow he’s made it to Blaine without Blaine noticing. “Blaine, are you okay?” 

Blaine can’t speak, his throat restricting, and he vaguely wonders if he’s having a panic attack. Weird. He hasn’t had one of those in a long time. 

He manages to shake his head, and his mind feels separate from his body, like he’s somewhere far away from where he’s standing. 

“Okay, you look like you’re about to pass out.” There’s a note of concern in Kurt’s voice, and Blaine’s head turns to look at Kurt, sees his wide eyes, the concerned line of his lips. 

“I…” Blaine’s lips open, his voice trying to work, but then he grunts, his shoulder jumping, and he can’t be in here anymore, he needs to be out somewhere where there’s air he can actually breathe. 

He turns away from Kurt, eyes blinking so hard he can barely see, and makes his way to the door, slips through and heads down the stairs. He can hear someone following him, a voice asking him to slow down, but he doesn’t stop until he’s outside and the cold slams into him like delicious relief, and he can gulp frozen air into his burning lungs. His hands haven’t stopped shaking and his joints feel too loose, like his bones have been replaced with cotton and he sags against the cold brick building, hands resting on his knees, head hanging. 

The door to the building opens and closes, the crunch of shoes in snow, but Blaine doesn’t look up, just stares at his own feet. A hand touches his shoulder and Blaine jerks away, fingers digging painfully into his knees, his eyes squeezing shut.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s just me.” 

A lighter touch, tracing down his back and this time Blaine stays still. 

Keep breathing. 

It’s okay.

It’s just me. 

A minute passes and Blaine manages to get his breathing under control, manages to loosen the death grip on his knees, his fingers creaking painfully as he moves. 

“Can you look at me?” 

A request. Okay. That’s something Blaine can do. He forces his eyes open and raises his head, his eyes meeting Kurt’s concerned gaze. It’s dark outside, snowflakes drifting down from the sky, the streetlamp casting a yellow glow across Kurt’s face. Kurt parts his lips like he’s going to say something, closes it, instead reaches his hand out, palm up, a silent invitation. Blaine glances down at it, and his mouth feels dry, a painful lump in his throat. But he takes Kurt’s hand in his, Kurt’s fingers cold and gentle against his. 

“What happened in there?” The question is quiet, open. “I thought we were done with the running away part.” 

Blaine feels flushed, hot and cold at the same time, tries to focus on the feel of Kurt’s hand in his.

“I’m sorry.” The words are thin, forced past the lump in his throat. He clears his throat, jaw clicking together, a grunt and chest slap and the lump loosens, words he didn’t know he had finding their way past his lips. “You’re friends, they’re all so… _together_ and I’m such a mess and something’s bothering you and I con’t know what but all I can think is that you want me to leave but you’re too nice to ask me and I’m just embarrassing you and…”

“Whoa,” Kurt cuts him off, fingers tightening in Blaine’s. “Hold up there mister.” 

Kurt leans forward, presses a kiss to Blaine’s cheek. His lips are soft, like he’d recently put on chapstick, and they leave a cold imprint, a tingle that Blaine has to fight the urge to touch.

“You’re not embarrassing me. Why would you think that?” 

Blaine swallows, his shoulder jerking painfully.

“You’ve been… distant tonight.” It sounds so stupid when he says it. Hadn’t they been making out barely two hours ago? 

“Shit.” The word is whispered, and a pained look crosses Kurt’s face. He leans back against the brick wall and Blaine realizes Kurt doesn’t have his crutches with him. Guilt churns in his stomach, making him feel worse than he already does. He ran and of course Kurt was going to follow him and his leg is broken because of _Blaine_ and how is it possible for one person to screw up so badly?

Blaine shakes his head, tries to clear his thoughts, focus on Kurt. Kurt needs a place to sit, and it’s freezing outside, and he looks about as lost as Blaine feels.

“Here,” Blaine says, offers himself for Kurt to lean against. He still feels shaken, like he’s barely anchored to the earth, but his concern for Kurt keeps him _here_ , at least for the moment. Kurt leans into Blaine, his body a solid weight against him, and Blaine opens the door to the apartment building, helps Kurt into the entrance.

“Blaine, I need to tell you something.” Kurt’s words have Blaine pausing in the entryway, and Kurt sighs, pulls away and lowers himself onto the stairs. He massages his leg above his cast, a twinge of discomfort crossing his face, but he’s looking up at Blaine seriously.

Blaine can hear people shouting in the distance, cheers and the sound of confetti canons, but all he can focus is on is this, this is the moment, the end of the brief time he had with Kurt, and he wishes it could have been longer, but he’s grateful for what he had.

“I saw the video of you.” 

The words are like a pillowcase of bricks, slam into Blaine’s head and leave him dizzy. Understanding washes over him, ice coursing through his veins. 

This is so much worse.

“I’m so sorry.” He’s vaguely aware that Kurt’s crying, but he can’t bring himself to look, stares at the front door, the snow blowing past the small window. 

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Kurt continues, sentence interrupted by sniffing. 

“How.” The word comes out as a croak, and Blaine digs his fingernails into his palm, his eyes blinking furiously, shoulder jumping, a serious of grunts stalling in his throat. Shame and embarrassment weighs him down, everything he’s worked so hard to bury, to move on from, crashing back into him. 

“It was on youtube,” Kurt says, his voice wavering like he’s barely holding it together.

Blaine runs a hand over his face, a frustrated scream building in his chest, but he swallows it down. He thought that video had been taken down. Cooper and his mom had worked so hard to get that erased, to make sure it wouldn’t torment Blaine anymore. Apparently it hadn’t been enough. 

No wonder Kurt had seemed distant. Blaine can’t imagine seeing that and ever looking at him the same again. 

“I didn’t look for it, I promise. Please don’t be mad at me.” 

But something doesn’t add up. Blaine closes his eyes, his mind racing. Why did Kurt kiss him? It doesn’t make any sense. Kurt saw the video. He saw _the video_. The video that had utterly humiliated Blaine, that had crushed any self confidence he had, and yet. 

Yet. He kissed him. He’d smiled and kissed Blaine and taken him into his bedroom and he was so gentle and kind and…

It doesn’t make any sense.

“Do you…” Blaine clears his throat, turns around and looks at Kurt for the first time since they entered the building. Kurt’s still sitting on the stairs, his cheeks red, eyelashes damp with tears. “Do you want to break up with me?” 

Kurt’s mouth falls open. “What? No! Why would you think that?” 

“I mean, you saw the video. I don’t… How can you still want… me?” 

Kurt’s gaze softens and he wipes at his eyes before patting the stair next to him.

“Oh, Blaine.” He draws in a deep breath and Blaine takes a cautious step forward, slowly lowers himself to sit next to Kurt. He still feels tense, like he might shatter at any moment, but being close to Kurt makes him feel like he can breathe just a little easier.

“What they did to you was terrible. I would never break up with you because of that.” 

Blaine stares at his knees, unsure what to say. 

“I was bullied in high school too. Not like you, I’m not trying… I just want you to know that I understand. I was different, and different in Ohio isn’t something that goes over well, as you know. I even got death threats once.” Kurt lets out a dry laugh, and Blaine looks over at him, can’t imagine anyone ever hating someone as amazing as Kurt. 

“So I would never, _never_ , judge someone for being different.” 

Blaine lets out a shaky exhale, looks back at his knees.

“His name was Tyler. He… he was the first person who was actually nice to me. He asked me to hang out with him a few times, and I was so excited, you know? I’d never really had a friend before.” 

Blaine pauses, tries to collect himself, tries not the let the memories overwhelm him. Fingers thread through his own, and he feels stronger. Anchored.

“I should have known. Tyler was pretty popular, in sports and all that. They just wanted to laugh at me. One day he asked me on a date. Like a real date, and I… I wasn’t really _out_ , but I wasn’t not out if that makes sense. I thought… maybe that was my chance. To finally have someone see me for _me_ and not my stupid tics. 

“He took me to a restaurant that was full of people, which is always a trigger for my tics, and then just… egged me on until it… It was really bad. I didn’t even know he was filming until after and the video was _everywhere_. It…”

Blaine’s voice cracks and he can’t continue, everything he’d locked away for so long bursting through him and it’s so much, it’s too much he can’t…

And Kurt’s arms are around him, a soothing hand on his back, whispered words of comfort in his ears.

“I’m so sorry. It’s okay. Nothing like that is going to happen again, I promise.” 

Blaine clings to Kurt a little tighter than he means, and he thinks he should be embarrassed at his neediness, but Kurt is safe and warm and kind and he feels _good_.

He feels happy.

A laugh bubbles out of him, and he smiles even though his face feels swollen and tight, pulls back and glances at Kurt’s confused face for only a second before he leans in and kisses Kurt.

On the lips. 

Kurt raises an eyebrow when Blaine sits back. 

“What was that for?”

Blaine bites his lip, runs his thumb over the side of Kurt’s hand. 

“Thank you.” When Kurt only offers him a confused expression he continues. “I still haven’t figured out why you want to be with me, but I believe you. So thank you.” 

Kurt smiles, and even though his eyes seem sad, the smile is genuine.

“I want to be with you because you’re kind and funny and smart and you make me feel complete in a way I haven’t since I moved to New York.” 

Blaine feels too loose, all the tension from the party and the memories of the video and the past has turned his body into a pile of mush, and he leans against Kurt, rests his head on Kurt’s shoulders.

“But Blaine. I can’t always be running after you. And not just because of this stupid cast.” 

Blaine’s eyes flutter closed, just for a second. 

“I’ll stop running. I’m going to try really hard.” 

“Thank you.” 

A kiss pressed tenderly into his hair, a hand on his back. 

“Oh no!” Blaine sits up abruptly. “We missed midnight.” 

Kurt pulls out his phone, lights it up to show that it’s almost half past midnight. He laughs, and shrugs, puts his phone back in his pocket.

“We have all year to make up for it, right?” 

Blaine smiles. He still has his doubts, still has so much he needs to work through, but he’s trying, and it’s a new year, and maybe this one will be good. 

“All year.”

Their lips meet and this time Blaine lets himself go. 

He lets himself be happy.

 


End file.
